cup of tea and some fresh rolls,
furnished a plain but excellent repast.

"I haven't eaten so good a supper for a long time," said the miner. "It
seems just like the suppers I used to get at home in Vermont."

"It was very plain," said Mrs. Fenton, "but probably you had a good
appetite."

"You are right there, ma'am."

Mr. Sloan remained chatting for a couple of hours. He told his new
friends that he had been away two years, spending the time in Nevada
and California.

"I hope you have had good luck, Mr. Sloan," said Fred.

"Yes, I've made a few thousand dollars, but I'm going back again next
month."

"To California?"

"No, to Colorado."

Fred and his mother exchanged looks.

"My father left us some land in Colorado," said the train boy--"a
hundred and twenty-five acres--but we can't find out whether it has any
value or not."

"Let me know where it is," said the miner, "and I'll find out and send
you word."

"Thank you! It will be a great favor," said Mrs. Fenton warmly. "A
cousin of my husband went out there three months since, and visited the
land. He reports that it is of no value, but offers to buy it for
twenty-five dollars. Fred thinks he wouldn't make the offer if it was
not worth a good deal more."

"That's where Fred's head is level. Depend upon it your cousin is foxy
and wants to take you in. I'll tell you just how the matter stands."

Mrs. Fenton produced her husband's papers, and Mr. Sloan made an entry
of the location in a small note-book which he carried.

"Don't worry about it any more, ma'am,'" he said. "I'll do all I can
for you, and I hope for your sake there's a gold mine on the land."

Mrs. Fenton smiled.

"I shall be satisfied with less than that," she answered.

"How long are you going to stay in New York?" asked Fred.

"I am going to Vermont to-morrow, and, likely as not I shan't come back
this way, but go West from Boston. Anyway you'll hear from me
occasionally. I ain't much of a writer, but I guess you can make out my
pot-hooks."

"I'll take the risk, Mr. Sloan," said Fred, "I am no writing master
myself, but my little brother Albert can draw nicely, and writes a
handsome hand. Bertie, bring your last writing-book."

The little boy did so, and exhibited it to the miner.

"Why, the kid beats my old teacher all hollow," said Sloan. "I've a
great mind to take him with me to Vermont, and have him start a writing
school."

"I'm afraid Albert couldn't keep order among