So she rambled along the
creek one afternoon, armed with hook and line on a pliant willow in
search of sport.
The trout were hungry, and struck fiercely at the bait. She soon had
plenty for supper and breakfast. Wherefore she abandoned that
diversion, and took to prying tentatively in the lee of certain
bowlders on the edge of the creek--prospecting on her own initiative,
as it were. She had no pan, and only one hand to work with, but she
knew gold when she saw it--and, after all, it was but an idle method of
killing time.
She noticed behind each rock and in every shallow, sheltered place in
the stream a plentiful gathering of tiny red stones. They were of a
pale, ruby cast, and mostly flawed; dainty trifles, translucent and
full of light when she held them to the sun. She began a search for a
larger specimen. It might mount nicely into a stickpin for Bill, she
thought; a memento of the Klappan Range.
And in this search she came upon a large, rusty pebble, snuggled on the
downstream side of an over-hanging rock right at the water's edge. It
attracted her first by its symmetrical form, a perfect oval; then, when
she lifted it, by its astonishing weight.
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