Mineral Point tribune. (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1869-1938, 1881-05-26

event, and advise her to forget me. BY
the Pickering light of a tallow candle, |
commenced the letter the first | had
written for months. | thought aloud
as | wrote. Fritz lay beside me, his
nose wedged between his fore-paws,
but | knew by the twitching of his ears
that ne understood every word l was
writing.
II had reached the climax Of re-
nunciation and wretchedness-or rather
my expression Of it-when he suddenly
rose and went out. | soon heard him
paving and scratching and tearing the
earth about SIX feet from me, as
though he was under contract to dig a
tunnel to China before daylight. Think
ing he had found the burrow Of a wolf
or fox, | called hlm off but he was as
deaf as a rock to my voice. Selling
the candle | hurried to the spot around
which lay a half bushel of gravel,
which he had loosened, when my eye
caught the gleam OF a dull red streak
that stained a piece of quartz about the
size Of an egg, lying among the fresh
earth. Would you believe it? That
streak was worth fifty dollars, for it was
virgin gold. Nor was it the only one
on the hillside. Fritz mad found lode
thanks to a gopher, and /, thereby,
had found fortune. As soon
as possible had the gold Of the first
precious stone wrought into a ring of
my own designing; all of it but the con-
its native roughness / had mounted as
simple brooch. Sending these to
| Jennie, /"
can act of great generosity, sir, |
think" interrupted Ruth, with a laugh
! ing CLINT in her eye. zone would have
thought you'd have preserved such a
piece of rare good fortune As memo
rial stone"
"You anticipate me, madam. twas
as memorial that | sent my first bit
of treasure, but | expected to get it
back again within two years, and the
girl with it."
"And did your"
"No; nor even received line Of ac-
acknowledgement that my offer had been
accepted. Nothing finds gold quicker
! than gold, when a man has once got a
fair share of it, and in two years | had,
! in various ways, secured S20 900. In
vesting it, as / thought, safely, | re-
turned to Philadelphia in all the pride
of conquering hero. My story ought
to end here; to wind up with the chime
of wedding bells and beautiful 'Ra
chez as my reward for faithful serving
but had scarcely arrived when | heard
incidentally that Jennie had gone with
| her father to Europe, nor left one sign
that she ever remembered me"
"You certainly did not let that fact
dampen the ardor of your pursuit."
queried Ruth; 'you followed her, of
course
''Of course | done no such thinG,
madam. | returned to San Francisco
and plunged into the excitement OF
gold hunting with recklessness that n
woman cannot understand. Six months
after and ! lost every dollar, but, by
that time. | had learned that experience
is worth nothing as solid capital until
it has been dearly bought. | whistled
my rhyme;
Loss aud gain, pleasure and pain,
Balance the see-saw OF life,
In the sensitive ears Of my faithful
Fritz, Rugged his brown head close to
my shoulder-don't laugh, that dog
was my friend-rolled up my sleeves and
again went to work with vigor that |
knew meant success if the vein held.
1t did, and five years afterward | had a
bank account which ran largely into
the thousands. | invested it in land
Bv that time | was bachelor of thirty
Hard knocks and my one big disap-
pointment had shaken all the romance
out of me, and when | again went East
it was on business connected with the
construction Of this railaoad."
and you had quite out-lived youl
bCyish fancy, IS your heart began tC
lose its youth ?' said Ruth, with the
least bit of cynicism in her tone.
II think Fritz knew" said the con
ductor, quietly, II had become almos
misanthrope for his sake, If | hac
left him to go into society such as W.
, had--for a few hours he either whinec
like sick child or kept up such an In
creasing barking and baying that, t
save him from being shot as a nuisance
: went to no place where it was impos
sible for him to accompany me. Thu
old fellow went with me even to New
York, and on the Journey | Otter
, caught myself cogitating how he-borI
, in a wilderness OF wild mustard, an,
as fond of camp-life as an Indian-woul,
, take to the CONSTANTS of an old city
Well, | had not been in New York
week before there was a strong tuggin
: At my heart to run down to Philadelph
f in. Not that it was home for me, 70
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