Blue stones, rather dull at first; but ah! when the sun awoke the fires in them: blue as the flower o' the corn, the flame of burning sulphur.

He gathered them up and slowly trickled them through his fingers.
Sapphires, unset, beautiful as a woman's eyes.

He replaced them in the chamois bag; and for the rest of the afternoon went about his affairs preoccupiedly, grave as a bishop under his miter.

For, all said and done, he had much to be grave about.
In one of the panels of the partition which separated the cabin from the next, there was a crack.

A human eye could see through it very well.