that he could not recover, he one
day confided to me a strange secret.

"He was a prospector, and had spent several years in the North along
the Yukon Valley. One day he and a partner discovered a valuable ledge
of gold far back from the river in an easterly direction. They filled
their pockets with nuggets, and, as winter was fast approaching, and
they had little food, they started for the coast. They had proceeded
only a short distance when they were set upon by several Indians, who
resented the intrusion of the white men into what they considered their
rightful domain. One man was instantly killed, while the other
escaped. After a terrible struggle he reached the coast, where a
passing steamer took him on board, and landed him in Vancouver. Here
he was at once taken to the hospital, and placed in my care.

"When the man had finished his story, he gave me a piece of paper, on
which was sketched a rude map of the Yukon region, describing the exact
spot where the gold was to be found. I will show you this paper; it is
the one of which my father speaks.

"The next day the prospector died, and I laid the map away, and thought
little of it at the time, being very busy with my work. When next I
saw my father, I told him the whole story, and though he seemed
interested, I little thought what an impression it would make upon his
mind.

"A year later my father, suffered severe losses in his business, which
caused him great worry. Then I found what an effect the prospector's
story had made upon him. He had been thinking of it continually, and
talked much with Kenneth, my only brother, about the matter. Both
believed that the story was real, and that the gold was there, only
waiting some one bold enough to go for it.

"When the financial trouble swept down upon us, my brother determined
to start upon the quest, notwithstanding our entreaties to the
contrary. He boarded a coast steamer for the North, and that was the
last we heard of him.

"Oh, Mr. Steadman," and tears stood in her eyes, "you little know what
he was to me. We were so much together, and after our mother's death I
took charge of him almost entirely. He had a sweet disposition, and a
lovable nature. Music was his passion, and often during the winter
evenings, when we were all home, he would play by the hour upon the
violin, his favorite instrument, which he carried away with him. Oh,
if I can only find him! I am afraid something has happened