Elithe did not think it necessary to explain that it came in a missionary box and simply answered, “It is mine, sir.” “It looks like one I have seen Mignon wear. Who are you, any way?” he continued. “I am Miss Hansford,” was Elithe’s reply, given with a slight elevation of her head. “Hansford? Hansford?” the man repeated, as if trying to recall something. “Oh, yes, I know. Lizy Ann told me he was the parson and was coming here. Are you the parson’s daughter?” “I am the Rev. Roger Hansford’s daughter,” Elithe replied with dignity and a heightened color. The word “parson” when applied to her father always grated upon her and doubly so when spoken as this man spoke it. He must have read her thoughts, for he hastened to say: “Excuse me, Miss Hansford; I meant no disrespect. Lizy Ann called him the parson, and I did the same on the principle do as the Romans do when you are among them. Where is he?” Elithe said that, as he was ill, she came in his stead. “A deuced good exchange, too,” the stranger replied, “but aren’t you afraid with all these miners? There are some hard cases among them, and your face——” Something in Elithe’s face checked him suddenly, while she rejoined vehemently: “I am not afraid. The hardest miner here would not see me harmed.” “I believe you. The man would be a brute who could harm you, but he can’t help thinking,” the stranger replied in a tone of voice which made Elithe wish Mrs. Stokes would come. The sound of the melodeon had ceased, and after a moment Rob pushed open the door and called to her: “Elithe, Elithe; they want you to play for them. I tried my hand and couldn’t make it go. Mrs. Stokes will sit with him.” He nodded towards the bed, seeing now for the first time that the sick man was awake. Rob had heard of the snakes and the blue devils which had held high carnival in that room the night before, and he, too, shrank from the eyes fixed upon him. But when the stranger asked, “And who are you, coming in like a whirlwind to take my nurse away,” he answered fearlessly, “She is not your nurse. She’s my sister and I am Robert Hansford.” “More Hansfords. I should not be surprised if the old one herself appeared pretty soon,” and the man laughed a low, chuckling laugh; then changing suddenly, and still looking at Rob, he continued: “I was once a boy like you, only not half so good, I reckon. Keep good, my lad, and never do what I have done.” “Get drunk, you mean?” Rob asked with a bluntness which startled Elithe, whose warning hush-h came too late. The stranger did not seem in the least offended, and answered good-humoredly: “Yes, get drunk, and other things which getting drunk leads to. I have a sister,—not exactly like yours. She would never come among the miners and sit in this place with such as I am. Still she is my sister.”