ump (the deceased husband of Mrs.
Frump), who was killed in that very county in an affray growing out of a
disputed claim, five years before. Mrs. Frump, after her engagement to
Matthew, had furnished him with slips from three California papers,
giving full particulars of the sanguinary affair. Before he was engaged,
he had never felt the slightest curiosity to know the history of his
predecessor; but, since then, he had entertained a strong secret desire
to learn more of him, and especially of the reasons which induced him to
abandon a young and lovely wife, and make a Californian exile of
himself. Upon this subject the widow had never volunteered any
satisfactory information, and he had been politely reluctant to ask
her about it.

Old Van Quintem, who was too sleepy at that time to talk much, procured
the necessary tools from a cupboard in the kitchen, and showed the
stranger what work was to be done. The old gentleman then returned to
his easy chair by the window, threw a handkerchief over his head, and
settled himself for a nap.

Before the carpenter had struck the first blow, Matthew Maltboy rose,
remarked to the widow that he wanted to stretch himself a little, and
walked out upon the piazza.

The carpenter stood near the door, with the saw in one hand and the
hammer in the other, very much in the attitude of listening. At
Matthew's approach, he commenced feeling the teeth of the saw, as if to
test their sharpness.

"I would like to speak a word with you, sir," said Matthew, in a low
voice, motioning the carpenter to accompany him to a corner of the
piazza, out of the widow's possible hearing.

Having attained that safe position, Matthew opened the great subject.

"You remarked that you had dug gold in Calaveras County," said he. "Did
you ever happen to know a man by the name of Frump--Amos Frump--who was
a miner there?"

"Frump!" replied the carpenter. "He was an intimate friend of mine."

"Now that's lucky," said Matthew, "for I want to find out something
about the man."

"Then you've come to the right shop," answered the carpenter; "for his
own brother--if he ever had one--couldn't tell you more about him
than I."

"I am indeed fortunate. In the first place, then this man Frump is
really--dead?"

The carpenter pulled his rough hat farther over his forehead, and
replied:

"As dead as two big splits in the skull could make him. But 'xcuse me,
sir; he was my bosom friend, and I can't bear to talk