ssuing from the crumbling
chimney. They ran to the crazy door, pushed aside its weak fastening,
and found--Uncle Sylvester calmly enjoying a pipe before a blazing fire.
A small pickaxe and crowbar were lying upon a mound of freshly turned
earth beside the chimney, where the rotten flooring had been torn up.

The tumultuous entrance of the skating party required no explanation;
but when congratulations had been exchanged, the wet snow shaken off,
and they had drawn round the fire, curious eyes were cast upon the
solitary occupant and the pile of earth and debris before him.

"I believe," said Gabriel laughingly, "that you have been so bored here
that you have actually played at gold-hunting for amusement."

Uncle Sylvester took the pipe from his mouth and nodded.

"It's a common diversion of yours," said Marie audaciously.

Uncle Sylvester smiled sweetly.

"And have you been successful THIS TIME?" asked Marie.

"I got the color."

"Eh?"

Uncle Sylvester rose and placed himself with his back to the fire,
gently surveying the assembled group.

"I was interrupted in a story of gold-digging last evening," he said
blandly. "How far had I got?"

"You were down on the San Joaquin River in the spring of '50, with a
chap named Flint," chorused Cousins Jane and Emma promptly.

"Ah! yes," said Uncle Sylvester. "Well, in those days there was a
scarcity of money in the diggings. Gold dust there was in plenty, but no
COIN. You can fancy it was a bother to weigh out a pinch of dust every
time you wanted a drink of whiskey or a pound of flour; but there was
no other legal tender. Pretty soon, however, a lot of gold and silver
pieces found their way into circulation in our camp and the camps around
us. They were foreign--old French and English coins. Here's one of
them that I kept." He took from his pocket a gold coin and handed it to
Gabriel.

Lane rose to his feet with an exclamation:

"Why, this is like the louis-d'or that grandfather saved through the war
and gave to father."

Uncle Sylvester took the coin back, placed it in his left eye, like a
monocle, and winked gravely at the company.

"It is the SAME!" he went on quietly. "I was interested, for I had a
good memory, and I remembered that, as a boy, grandfather had shown
me one of those coins and told me he was keeping them for old Jules du
Page, who didn't believe in banks and bank-notes. Well, I traced them to
a trader called Flint, who was shipping gold dust