s part of the mine had been
worked out and abandoned.

As the boy passed on he recalled the incidents of the former journey.
He came to a place where the explosion at that time had blown out the
props and shaken down the roof until the passage was entirely blocked.

He remembered that they had turned there and had gone up into a
chamber to try to get in through the entrances. But they had found the
entrances all blocked, and the men had set to work to make an opening
through one of them. Ralph recalled the scene very distinctly. With
what desperate energy those men worked, tearing away the stones
and dirt with their hands in order to get in the sooner to their
unfortunate comrades.

He remembered that while they were doing this Robert Burnham had
seated himself on a fallen prop, had torn a leaf from his memorandum
book and had asked Ralph to hold his lamp near by, so that he could
see to write. He filled one side of the leaf, half of the other side,
folded it, addressed it, and placed it in the pocket of his vest. Then
he went up and directed the enlargement of the opening and crawled
through with the rest. Here was the entrance, and here was the
opening, just as it had been left. Ralph clambered through it and went
down to the fall. The piled-up rocks were before him, as he had seen
them that day. Nothing had been disturbed.

On the floor of the mine was something that attracted his attention.
He stooped and picked it up. It was a piece of paper.

There was writing on it in pencil, much faded now, but still distinct
enough to be read. He held his lamp to it and examined it more
closely. He could read writing very well, and this was written
plainly. He began to read it aloud:--

"My DEAR WIFE,--I desire to supplement the letter sent to you from
the office with this note written in the mine during a minute of
waiting. I want to tell you that our Ralph is living; that he is
here with me, standing this moment at my side."

The paper dropped from the boy's trembling fingers, and he stood for
a minute awe-struck and breathless. Then he picked up the note and
examined it again. It was the very one that Robert Burnham had written
on the day of his death. Ralph recognized it by the crossed lines of
red and blue marking the page into squares.

Without thinking that there might be any impropriety in doing so, he
continued to read the letter as fast as his wildly beating heart and
his eyes clouded with mi