In and out, now straight, now in curves and bows, was threaded a ribbon of silver, with here and there a connecting mirror in which flashed the sun.

Bordering its furthermost edge a chain of mountains lost themselves in low, rolling clouds, while here and there, in its many crumplings, were studded jewels of barn stack and house, their facets aflame in the morning light.
Jack absorbed it all, its beauty filling his soul, the sunshine bathing his cheeks.

Soon all trace of his disappointment vanished: with Ruth here,--with his work to occupy him,--and this mighty, all-inspiring, all-intoxicating sweep of loveliness spread out, his own and Ruth's every hour of the day and night, what did ore beds or anything else matter?
MacFarlane's voice woke him to consciousness.

He had called to him before, but the boy had not heard.
"As I have just remarked, Jack," MacFarlane began again, "there is nothing but an earthquake will make your property of any use.

It is a low-grade ore, I should say, and tunnelling and shoring would eat it up.
Wipe it off the books.