r was mislaid. I have just discovered it, and mail it,
hoping it will reach you without further delay. Many apologies and
regrets. J. HANSHAW.

Luke did not spend much time upon the envelope, but opened the
letter.

The sight of his father's familiar handwriting brought the tears to
his eyes, This was the letter:

GOLD GULCH, California.

MY DEAR WIFE: It is a solemn thought to me that when you receive this
letter these trembling fingers will be cold in death. Yes, dear Mary,
I know very well that I am on my deathbed, and shall never more be
permitted to see your sweet face, or meet again the gaze of my dear
children. Last week I contracted a severe cold while mining, partly
through imprudent exposure; and have grown steadily worse, till the
doctor, whom I summoned from Sacramento, informs me that there is no
hope, and that my life is not likely to extend beyond two days. This
is a sad end to my dreams of future happiness with my little family
gathered around me. It is all the harder, because I have been
successful in the errand that brought me out here. "I have struck it
rich," as they say out here, and have been able to lay by ten thousand
dollars. I intended to go home next month, carrying this with me. It
would have enabled me to start in some business which would have
yielded us a liberal living, and provided a comfortable home for you
and the children. But all this is over--for me at least. For you I
hope the money will bring what I anticipated. I wish I could live long
enough to see it in your hands, but that cannot be.

I have intrusted it to a friend who has been connected with me here,
Thomas Butler, of Chicago. He has solemnly promised to seek you out,
and put the money into your hands. I think he will be true to his
trust. Indeed I have no doubt on the subject, for I cannot conceive of
any man being base enough to belie the confidence placed in him by a
dying man, and despoil a widow and her fatherless children. No, I will
not permit myself to doubt the integrity of my friend. If I should, it
would make my last sickness exceedingly bitter.

Yet, as something might happen to Butler on his way home, though
exceedingly improbable, I think it well to describe him to you. He is
a man of nearly fifty, I should say, about five feet ten inches in
height, with a dark complexion, and dark hair a little tinged with
gray. He will weigh about one hundred and sixty pounds. But there is
one striking mark about him