ascal. Tell me about it."

The man looked sympathetic and trustworthy, and Mark without hesitation
told him the story as it is already known to the reader.

"Do you think the stock has reached its highest point?" he asked
anxiously.

"No; it will probably rise to two hundred."

"Then my uncle probably won't close it out just at present."

"No; he will hear how the matter stands, and if he is sharp he will hold
on."

"I am glad of that, for I want a little time to decide how to act."

"I am going to stop at the mine on my way to 'Frisco."

"I will give you my address and ask you to write me a line to the care
of my banker there, letting me know what you can about the mine."

"All right, boy! I like you, and I'll do it. When do you start?"

"To-morrow."

"We'll start together, and I'll get off the train in Nevada."

CHAPTER XXIX.

NAHUM SPRAGUE AND HIS ORPHAN WARD.

Leaving Mark on his way we will precede him, and carry the reader at
once to Gulchville, in California, where he was to find the young boy of
whom Mr. Gilbert had requested him to take charge.

In an unpainted frame house lived Mr. Nahum Sprague. In New England such
a building would hardly have cost over five hundred dollars, but here it
had been erected at more than double the expense by the original owner.
When he became out of health and left California it was bought for a
trifling price by Nahum Sprague.

The latter was a man of forty-five with small eyes and a face
prematurely wrinkled. He was well-to-do, but how he had gained his money
no one knew. He and his wife, however, were mean and parsimonious.

They had one son, a boy of fifteen, who resembled them physically and
mentally. He was named Oscar, after a gentleman of wealth, in the hope
that at his death the boy would be remembered. Unfortunately for Oscar
the gentleman died without a will and his namesake received nothing.

The disappointed parents would gladly have changed the boy's name, but
Oscar would not hear of it, preferring the name that had become
familiar.

This was the family whose grudging hospitality had embittered the last
days of John Lillis, and to them he was obliged to commit the temporary
guardianship of his little son Philip.

In the field adjoining, Philip Lillis, a small pale boy, was playing
when Oscar Sprague issued from the house.

"Come here, you little brat!" he said harshly.

Philip looked with a frightened expression.

"What do you wa