up the coin: "There's a dip and a level crossing about a
mile over yer,"--he pointed,--"but it's through the woods, and they're
that high with thick bresh."

"With what?"

"Bresh," repeated the boy; "THAT,"--pointing to a few fronds of bracken
growing in the shadow of the sycamore.

"Oh! underbrush?"

"Yes; I said 'bresh,'" returned the boy, doggedly. "YOU might get
through, ef you war spry, but not your hoss. Where do you want to go,
anyway?"

"Do you know, George," said Mr. Hamlin, lazily throwing his right
leg over the horn of his saddle for greater ease and deliberation in
replying, "it's very odd, but that's just what I'D like to know. Now,
what would YOU, in your broad statesmanlike views of things generally,
advise?"

Quite convinced of the stranger's mental unsoundness, the boy glanced
again at his half-dollar, as if to make sure of its integrity, pocketed
it doubtfully, and turned away.

"Where are you going?" said Hamlin, resuming his seat with the agility
of a circus-rider, and spurring forward.

"To Green Springs, where I live, two miles over the ridge on the far
slope,"--indicating the direction.

"Ah!" said Jack, with thoughtful gravity. "Well, kindly give my love to
your sister, will you?"

"George Washington didn't have no sister," said the boy, cunningly.

"Can I have been mistaken?" said Hamlin, lifting his hand to his
forehead with grieved accents. "Then it seems YOU have. Kindly give her
my love."

"Which one?" asked the boy, with a swift glance of mischief. "I've got
four."

"The one that's like you," returned Hamlin, with prompt exactitude.
"Now, where's the 'bresh' you spoke of?"

"Keep along the edge until you come to the log-slide. Foller that, and
it'll lead you into the woods. But ye won't go far, I tell ye. When you
have to turn back, instead o' comin' back here, you kin take the trail
that goes round the woods, and that'll bring ye out into the stage road
ag'in near the post-office at the Green Springs crossin' and the new
hotel. That'll be war ye'll turn up, I reckon," he added, reflectively.
"Fellers that come yer gunnin' and fishin' gin'rally do," he concluded,
with a half-inquisitive air.

"Ah?" said Mr. Hamlin, quietly shedding the inquiry. "Green Springs
Hotel is where the stage stops, eh?"

"Yes, and at the post-office," said the boy. "She'll be along here
soon," he added.

"If you mean the Santa Cruz stage," said Hamlin, "she's here already. I
passed her on