e by side with Mr. Dimmidge's protracted warning,
appeared a column with the announcement, in large letters, "WE HAVEN'T
LOST ANY WIFE, but WE are prepared to furnish the following goods at
a lower rate than any other advertiser in the county," followed by the
usual price list of the merchant's wares. There was an unprecedented
demand for that issue. The reputation of the "Clarion," both as a shrewd
advertising medium and a comic paper, was established at once. For a few
days the editor waited with some apprehension for a remonstrance from
the absent Dimmidge, but none came. Whether Mr. Dimmidge recognized that
this new advertisement gave extra publicity to his own, or that he was
already on the track of the fugitive, the editor did not know. The
few curious citizens who had, early in the excitement, penetrated
the settlement of the English miners twenty miles away in search of
information, found that Mr. Dimmidge had gone away, and that Mrs.
Dimmidge had NEVER resided there with him!

Six weeks passed. The limit of Mr. Dimmidge's advertisement had been
reached, and, as it was not renewed, it had passed out of the pages
of the "Clarion," and with it the merchant's advertisement in the next
column. The excitement had subsided, although its influence was still
felt in the circulation of the paper and its advertising popularity. The
temporary editor was also nearing the limit of his incumbency, but had
so far participated in the good fortune of the "Clarion" as to receive
an offer from one of the San Francisco dailies.

It was a warm night, and he was alone in his sanctum. The rest of the
building was dark and deserted, and his solitary light, flashing out
through the open window, fell upon the nearer pines and was lost in the
dark, indefinable slope below. He had reached the sanctum by the
rear, and a door which he also left open to enjoy the freshness of
the aromatic air. Nor did it in the least mar his privacy. Rather the
solitude of the great woods without seemed to enter through that
door and encompassed him with its protecting loneliness. There was
occasionally a faint "peep" in the scant eaves, or a "pat-pat," ending
in a frightened scurry across the roof, or the slow flap of a heavy
wing in the darkness below. These gentle disturbances did not, however,
interrupt his work on "The True Functions of the County Newspaper," the
editorial on which he was engaged.

Presently a more distinct rustling against the straggl