"Two weeks later: 'I have not been as well as I had hoped to be. I did very wrong to spend so many hours writing my dream book, but now that it is completed I will write no more until I am stronger. Every day with a pick and shovel I dig in different places for recreation and exercise, endeavoring to find the fabled gold mine, the vein of which was lost, or so I have been told by an occasional miner who has passed this way. Before starting out I take you each afternoon to the cabin of a most kindly squaw who understands some English and since I pay her well, she is willing to care for you during my absence.'" For a long moment Meg ceased reading and Dan, noting that her hands trembled, went to her side, saying with tender solicitude: "Dear girl, what is it? I fear that reading aloud this letter from your father is very hard for you. Wouldn't you rather read it to yourself?" The girl lifted tear-filled eyes. "It isn't that, Dan," she said. "I want to share it with my friends who are so loving and loyal, but I cannot decipher the rest." There was a faded blur on the paper as though the pen had fallen. Then it had evidently been picked up again, but the scrawled letters that followed were very hard to read. Slowly the girl deciphered: "Lalie, when you are eighteen, get box ----" Then there was another blot and the pen had evidently rolled across the paper. The girl held the letter up to Dan. "I fear we will never know where the box is," she said, "for that is all." But the lad, after scrutinizing the sheet, held it up to the light. "There is more written, but evidently a drop of ink spread over it. Gerry, bring the magnifying glass." The small boy, glad to be of assistance, leaped to get it. Dan gazed through it for a long five minutes. Then he began to name the letters, and Bob, who had seized a pencil and paper, wrote them down. "_B-a-n-k._" Dan glanced questioningly at Meg. "What kind of a bank do you suppose it means?" Then to Bob: "Were there any banks of dirt near the cabin?" That lad shook his head. Jane suggested: "Would it not be more natural to suppose it to be a New York bank, since that had been Mr. Giguette's home for years?" They all decided this to be true. Then Merry asked: "Meg, or may I say Eulalie, are you willing that I should wire my father all that we know? He is a lawyer in New York and be will gladly find out what he can." How the dusky face brightened. "Oh, thank you, Merry. Please do!" Then, rising, the mountain girl held out both hands to Jane and Merry. "I must go now," she said, "to the dear old couple who have been all the father and mother I have ever known." Dan accompanied Meg up the winding mountain road. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE MYSTERY SOLVED "What a glorious moonlit night it is!" Merry exclaimed when, Meg and Dan having gone, the others turned back toward the cabin.