itedly.

"I'll do better than that," said the Cornishman: "I'll stop now."

"You will?"

"Of course; and glad of the chance to help you. Yah!"

The big fellow jumped up in horror, as a loud rap came from close by.

"What was that?" cried Dallas, who was equally startled.

"It was that there dog's ghost got his tail thawed enough to give it a
rap on the floor to say, `That's right'; and I believe your cousin's
right too, now, and this is a message sent to us to say, `Look out, for
those three beauties are coming here again.'"

"Nonsense!" cried Dallas, going down on his knees; "the dog's alive."

"I'm blessed!" said his big friend. "Well, some things can stand being
froze hard and thawed out again better than we Christians. I s'pose
it's having such a thick coat. Look at him; he's got one eye open, and
he's winking."

In proof thereof came a low whine, as if in appeal for food.

"Look here, my sons," said Tregelly one day, as he came in last from the
dismal darkness without to the bright warmth of the hut, where the fire
was burning cheerily and an appetising odour of tea, damper, and fried
ham proclaimed how busy, weak as he still was, Abel had been; "I used to
grumble a deal down in old Cornwall because we had a lot o' wet days,
and say it was a country not fit for anything better than a duck to live
in; but I'm an altered man now, and I repent. It's a regular heaven
compared to this Klondike country. Hullo, Scruff, my son, how are you?"
The dog gave an amiable growl, and seemed to enjoy the gentle caress
the big miner gave him with his heavy boot, as he lay stretched out by
the fire.

"Don't grumble, Bob," said Dallas. "This looks cheery enough, and we've
done some good to-day."

"Oh, I'm not grumbling, my son; only making comparisons as is ojus.
That's what I used to write at school. This is a reg'lar Lord Mayor's
banquet for a hungry man. But my word, how dirty I am!"

"So am I," said Dallas. "What with the gravel and the wood-smoke, I
feel like a charcoal burner. I should like a wash, though."

"Wash, my son! I should like a bathe in our old Cornish sea, with the
sun shining on my back. And I say, a bit of our old fish. A few
pilchards or grilled mackerel, or a baked hake, with a pudding inside
him--or oh! a conger pie."

"Don't, Bob," said Dallas. "This is painful. And look here; either you
or I must go down to Yukon City with the sledge again, for the stores
are getting low."