noon
The doubtful spot on the _ Jim Crow _ was not a blow-out , but a `` horse . '' He had penetrated below it . The mines were rich beyond his dreams . Yet he sat there at his noon meal as cheerful , as unexcited , as content as ever . When one has waited so long , impatience sleeps soundly , arouses with the sluggishness of unbelief itself . Outside he saw the sun , for the first time in weeks , and heard the pines singing their endless song . Inside , his fire sparkled and crackled ; his kettle purred like a fireside cat .