us,
tremulous, and scarcely audible voice, "I saw this bit o' paper, folded
note-wise, lyin' on the ledge before it. On top of it was this sprig
of laurel, to catch the eye. I ain't the man to pry into other folks'
secrets, or read what ain't mine. But on the back o' this note was
written 'To Jack!' It's a common enough name, but it's a singular thing,
ef you'll recollect, thar ain't ANOTHER Jack in this company, not on the
whole ridge betwixt this and the summit, except MYSELF! So I opened it,
and this is what it read!" He held the paper sideways toward the leaping
light of the still near camp-fire, and read slowly, with the emphasis of
having read it many times before.

"'I want you to believe that I, at least, respect and honor your honest,
manly calling, and when you strike it rich, as you surely will, I hope
you will sometimes think of Jill.'"

In the thrill of joy, hope, and fear that came over Bray, he could see
that Parkhurst had not only failed to detect his secret, but had not
even connected the two names with their obvious suggestion. "But do you
know anybody named Jill?" he asked breathlessly.

"It's no NAME," said Parkhurst in a sombre voice, "it's a THING!"

"A thing?" repeated Bray, bewildered.

"Yes, a measure--you know--two fingers of whiskey."

"Oh, a 'gill,'" said Bray.

"That's what I said, young man," returned Parkhurst gravely.

Bray choked back a hysterical laugh; spelling was notoriously not one of
Parkhurst's strong points. "But what has a 'gill' got to do with it?" he
asked quickly.

"It's one of them Sphinx things, don't you see? A sort of riddle or
rebus, you know. You've got to study it out, as them old chaps did. But
I fetched it. What comes after 'gills,' eh?"

"Pints, I suppose," said Bray.

"And after pints?"

"Quarts."

"QUARTZ, and there you are. So I looked about me for quartz, and sure
enough struck it the first pop."

Bray cast a quick look at Parkhurst's grave face. The man was evidently
impressed and sincere. "Have you told this to any one?" he asked
quickly.

"No."

"Then DON'T! or you'll spoil the charm, and bring us ill luck! That's
the rule, you know. I really don't know that you ought to have told
me," added the artful Bray, dissembling his intense joy at this proof of
Eugenia's remembrance.

"But," said Parkhurst blankly, "you see, old man, you'd been the last
man at the spring, and I kinder thought"--

"Don't think," said Bray promptly, "and above a