make
them into a chicken pie. Now, fall to, boys; and, with every mouthful
that you eat, think of our good luck. It means a lot to us, boys, a
whole lot to the Little Woman and me. We are going back to our dear old
New York home on the beautiful banks of the Hudson--Hi, there, Ham! Just
start the chicken pie a-going round. You are not the only mouth at the
table," and Dickson, doubtless feeling that sentiment was beginning to
get a little the best of him, rushed excitedly about the table, as he
helped to pass the good things Mrs. Dickson had cooked from one to
another.

That was a dinner to remember as long as one lived. The circumstances of
its giving were so unusual and so generous, its surroundings were so
unique, and its jolliness was so whole-hearted and spontaneous, that
ever afterwards it was one of the bright spots in the memories of all
who were present.

When the eating was ended the men went outside and built a huge fire in
front of the house; and then sat down around it and smoked their pipes
and told stories and compared mining notes and discussed the
ever-present questions of where the gold came from and how it got there,
all of which would make interesting reading, but which, because of other
events that are crowding forward, must be passed over thus briefly.

For a couple of hours the talk around the camp-fire continued; Mrs.
Dickson had joined the circle, and then Mr. and Mrs. Dickson both rose.

"It's getting late and we must be going," declared Mrs. Dickson.

"Not yit! Not yit! Not until you've sung for us!" cried Ham, jumping to
his feet. "We can't let her go without a song, can we, boys?"

The reply was an unanimous demand for the song; and Mrs. Dickson,
smiling and bowing and blushing, like a happy schoolgirl, and declaring
that she was afraid she had eaten too much to sing, straightened up her
plump little body, threw back her head, and was about to begin to sing
in the dark shadows where she stood, when Ham caught her by both her
shoulders and gently pushed her out into the bright light of the
camp-fire.

"Th' song wouldn't sound nigh as good, if we couldn't see th' singer
plain," he declared, his face seemingly one broad grin. "Thar, that's
'bout right," and he swung her around so that the brightest light shone
full on her face. "Now give us good old 'Ben Bolt,' Somehow that song
kinder seems tew sweeten me all up inside," and Ham sat down almost
directly in front of Mrs. Dickson.

Mr