by
John Miles, one object being to survey the country, and find, if
possible, a suitable place for continuing their search for gold. After
their three months' steady work both of our travellers were prepared to
enjoy the journey. Their road was difficult at times, from its
steepness, and more than once they found it necessary, out of
consideration for the horse, to get out and walk. But this only added to
the romantic charm of the trip.

"It's like a constant picnic," said Tom. "I should like to travel this
way for a year, if I did not feel the need of working."

"We might tire of it after a while," suggested Ferguson,--"in the rainy
season, for example."

"That would not be so pleasant, to be sure," Tom admitted. "Do you have
such fine scenery in Scotland, Mr. Ferguson?"

"Our mountains are not so high, my lad, nor our trees so gigantic; but
it's the associations that make them interesting. Every hill has a
legend connected with it, and our great novelist, Walter Scott, has
invested them with a charm that draws pilgrims from all parts of the
world to see them. Now this is a new country--beautiful, I grant, but
without a history. Look around you, and you will see nothing to remind
you of man. It is nature on a grand scale, I admit, but the soul is
wanting."

"I like mountains," said Tom, thoughtfully. "There is something grand
about them."

"There are some famous mountains in your native State, New Hampshire,
are there not, Tom?"

"Yes; but I have only seen them from a distance. They are not above
thirty miles away from where I was born; but poor people don't travel in
search of scenery, Mr. Ferguson."

"No, my lad, and there's another thing I have noticed. We don't care
much for the curiosities that are near us. The people about here, if
there are any settled inhabitants, care nothing about the mountains, I
doubt."

"That is true. In our village at home there is an old man nearly eighty
years old who has never visited the mountains, though he has lived near
them all his life."

"I can well believe it, my lad. But what is that?"

The sound which elicited this exclamation was a loud "Hollo!" evidently
proceeding from some one in their rear.

Both Tom and the Scotchman turned, and their eyes rested on a horseman
evidently spurring forward to overtake them. Tom, who was driving,
reined in the horse, and brought him to a stop. The horseman was soon
even with them.

He was evidently a Yankee. All Yankees