ned to mention to him that I had great need of an iron pot, and
three days afterwards, on returning home one evening, what should I find
standing outside my door but a big iron pot, and in it a chip, upon
which was written in pencil, 'Compliments of T. Connor.'"

"Just like Tom," said I, laughing. "He has more friends than any other
man in the district, and he deserves it, for when he makes a friend he
can't rest easy until he has found some way of doing him a service."

"And he's as honest as they make 'em," Joe continued. "If he's a friend,
he's a friend, and if he's an enemy, he's an enemy--he doesn't leave you
in doubt."

"Just what I should think," said the hermit. "Very different from Long
John, if I'm not mistaken. That gentleman, I suspect, is of the kind
that would shake hands with you in the morning and then come in the
night and burn your house down. What were you and he doing, by the way?
I've been watching you for an hour. First one and then the other would
kneel down in the snow and chop a hole in the bed of the creek, then get
up, walk a mile, and do it again. If I may be allowed to say so," he
went on, laughing, "it appeared to an outsider like a crazy sort of
amusement."

"I should think it might," said I, laughing too; and I then proceeded to
tell our friend the object of these seemingly senseless actions.

"And do you expect to go prospecting for this vein of galena in the
spring?" he inquired, when I had concluded.

"Not we!" I exclaimed. "My father wouldn't let us if we wanted to. We
are doing this work for Tom Connor, whom my father is anxious to serve,
he having done us, among others, a very good turn."

"I see," said the hermit. "And this man, Yetmore, or, rather, his
henchman, Long John, will be coming as soon as the snow is off to hunt
for the vein in competition with our friend, Connor."

"That is what we expect."

"Well, then, I can help you a little. We will, at least, secure for
Connor a start over the enemy."

"How?" I asked.

"You remember, of course," said the hermit, "that sulphurous stuff that
was cooking on the flat stone outside my door the day you came down to
my house through the clouds? That was galena ore."

"Why, of course!" I exclaimed, slapping my leg. "What pudding-heads we
must have been, Joe, not to have thought of it before. I had forgotten
all about it. Have you found the vein, then?"

"No, I have not; nor have I ever taken the trouble to look for it,
havi