“Well, write it yourself,” said Jim, sulkily, handing him over the pencil. “This is the sort of thing,” said the miner, moistening the point of it in his mouth. “’When the moon is in the sky--’” “There it is. That’s bully,” from the company. “’And the stars a-shinin’ bright, meet, O meet me, Adolphus, by the garden-gate at twelve.’” “His name ain’t Adolphus,” objected a critic. “That’s how the poetry comes in,” said the miner. “It’s kinder fanciful, d’ye see. Sounds a darned sight better than Abe. Trust him for guessing who she means. I’ll sign it Carrie. There!” This epistle was gravely passed round the room from hand to hand, and reverentially gazed upon as being a remarkable production of the human brain. It was then folded up and committed to the care of a small boy, who was solemnly charged under dire threats to deliver it at the shanty, and to make off before any awkward questions were asked him. It was only after he had disappeared in the darkness that some slight compunction visited one or two of the company. “Ain’t it playing it rather low on the girl?” said Shamus. “And rough on old Bones?” suggested another. However, these objections were overruled by the majority, and disappeared entirely upon the appearance of a second jorum of whiskey. The matter had almost been forgotten by the time that Abe had received his note, and was spelling it out with a palpitating heart under the light of his solitary candle. * * * * * That night has long been remembered in Harvey’s Sluice. A fitful breeze was sweeping down from the distant mountains, moaning and sighing among the deserted claims. Dark clouds were hurrying across the moon, one moment throwing a shadow over the landscape, and the next allowing the silvery radiance to shine down, cold and clear upon the little valley, and bathe in a weird mysterious light the great stretch of bushland on either side of it. A great loneliness seemed to rest on the face of Nature. Men remarked afterward on the strange eerie atmosphere which hung over the little town. It was in the darkness that Abe Durton sallied out from his little shanty. His partner, Boss Morgan, was still absent in the bush, so that beyond the ever-watchful Blinky there was no living being to observe his movements. A feeling of mild surprise filled his simple soul that his angel’s delicate fingers could have formed those great straggling hieroglyphics; however, there was the name at the foot, and that was enough for him. She wanted him, no matter for what, and with a heart as pure and as heroic as any knight-errant, this rough miner went forth at the summons of his love.