ng body of her husband, safe and
unharmed, but for exhaustion and some slight bruises, she learned that
the worst fears of the workmen had been realized. In releasing him, a
second cave had taken place. They had barely time to snatch away the
helpless body of her husband, before the strong frame of his rescuer,
Cyrus Hawkins, was struck and smitten down in his place.

For two hours he lay there, crushed and broken-limbed, with a heavy beam
lying across his breast, in sight of all, conscious and patient. For two
hours they had labored around him, wildly, despairingly, hopefully, with
the wills of gods and the strength of giants; and at the end of that
time they came to an upright timber, which rested its base upon the
beam. There was a cry for axes, and one was already swinging in the air,
when the dying man called to them feebly,--

"Don't cut that upright!"

"Why?"

"It will bring down the whole gallery with it."

"How?"

"It's one of the foundations of my house."

The axe fell from the workman's hand, and with a blanched face he turned
to his fellows. It was too true. They were in the uppermost gallery; and
the "cave" had taken place directly below the new house. After a pause,
the "Fool" spoke again more feebly.

"The lady--quick!"

They brought her,--a wretched, fainting creature, with pallid face and
streaming eyes,--and fell back as she bent her face above him.

"It was built for you, Annie darling," he said in a hurried whisper,
"and has been waiting up there for you and me all these long days. It's
deeded to you, Annie; and you must--live there--with HIM! He will not
mind that I shall be always near you; for it stands above--my grave."

And he was right. In a few minutes later, when he had passed away, they
did not move him, but sat by his body all night with a torch at his feet
and head. And the next day they walled up the gallery as a vault; but
they put no mark or any sign thereon, trusting, rather, to the monument,
that, bright and cheerful, rose above him in the sunlight of the hill.
And those who heard the story said, "This is not an evidence of death
and gloom and sorrow, as are other monuments, but is a sign of life and
light and hope, wherefore shall all know that he who lies under it is
what men call--'a fool'."

BABY SYLVESTER.

It was at a little mining-camp in the California Sierras that he first
dawned upon me in all his grotesque sweetness.

I had arrived early in the mor