that every soul
must enrich itself. That is true; but a noble character is at least
inspiring, and leaves the whole world richer.

In the case of one nephew, Robert Palmer found a man who loved him but
needed none of his gold. This man was an astronomer, who, returning from
a scientific expedition to Behring Strait in 1869, paid his uncle a
visit. At that time this meant a trip of forty miles into the mountains
by stage and on horseback from the line of the newly constructed
railroad; for the narrow gauge from Colfax to Nevada City was not built
until 1876. It was a happy day for Robert Palmer when his sister's
son,--covered with dust,--scaled Fillmore Hill. Here was a meeting of
two strong men, blue-eyed Anglo-Saxons, large of frame, spare, rugged,
their fair skin tanned by the blazing sun of California.

What a glorious visit they had! And how they revelled in a thousand
recollections of their New England home! For nine days the astronomer
shared his uncle's cabin, a new one, built of sawn timbers and boards,
and quite comfortable. Several days they worked together in the mine;
and when at last the hour of parting came, Robert Palmer sent by his
nephew a present to his grandnephews in Washington, the astronomer's
three small sons. It was the gold mined in those nine days, some one
hundred and thirty dollars in value. Thereafter the boys played miners
and stage-robbers and wild West generally, with sheet gold in the guise
of yellow envelopes hidden away between the leaves of books to represent
gold mines.

CHAPTER VI

Two of a Kind

The day after the council of war at Moore's Flat, John Keeler crossed
the canon of the Middle Yuba to talk over the death of his old partner
with Robert Palmer. As he clambered up the steep side of Fillmore Hill
to the claim he had worked with Cummins fifteen years before, all the
poetry and all the sadness of life in California came over him. How
vividly he remembered his arrival, at the age of eighteen, in this land
of romance and adventure! He had reached Moore's Flat on the Fourth of
July, 1860, when bronzed miners were celebrating in reckless fashion.
The saloons were crowded, and card games were in progress, with gold
coins stacked at the corners of the tables. Out of doors some red-faced
fellows were running races in the streets and shouting like wild
Indians. Over the door of a restaurant was the sign "Eat, Drink, and Be
Merry," and the youth pondered the words of Scri