n in
detail, and as he did, he felt himself entering into the spirit of the
story till it seemed once more part of his own existence. He revised the
work already done, eliminating, adding, making the outlines clearer,
more defined; then, with steady, unfaltering hand, carried the work
forward to completion.

Eighteen months after his re-establishment at Ophir he was commissioned
to go to Alaska to examine certain mining properties in a deal involving
over a million dollars, and, anxious to be on the ground as early as
possible, he took the first boat north that season. His story was
published on the eve of his departure. He received a few copies, which
he regarded with a half-fond, half-whimsical air. One he sent to Kate
Underwood, having first written his initials on the fly-leaf underneath
the brief petition, "Be merciful." He then went his way, his time and
attention wholly occupied by his work, with little thought as to whether
the newly launched craft was destined to ride the waves of popularity or
be engulfed beneath the waters of oblivion.

Months of constant travel, of hard work and rough fare, followed. His
report on the mines was satisfactory, the deal was consummated, and he
received a handsome percentage, but not content with this, determined to
familiarize himself with the general situation in that country and the
conditions obtaining, he pushed on into the interior, pursuing his
explorations till the return of the cold season. Touching at British
Columbia on his way home and finding tempting inducements there in the
way of mining properties, he stopped to investigate, and remained during
the winter and spring months.

It was therefore not until the following June that he found himself
really homeward bound and once more within the mountain ranges guarding
the approach to the busy little town of Ophir.

He had been gone considerably over a year; he had accumulated a vast
amount of information invaluable for future work along his line, and he
had succeeded financially beyond his anticipations. Occasionally during
his absence, in papers picked up here and there, he had seen favorable
mention of his story, from which he inferred that his first venture in
the realms of fiction had not been quite a failure, and in this opinion
he was confirmed by a letter just received from his publishers, which
had followed him for months. But all thought of these things was for the
time forgotten in an almost boyish deligh