Uncle Sylvester cast a resigned glance out of the window. “Oh, yes--certainly; it isn't much. You see at one time I was in the habit of making long monotonous journeys, and they were often exhausting, and,” he added, becoming wearied as if at the recollection, “always dreadfully tiresome. As the trail was sometimes very uncertain and dangerous, I rode a very surefooted mule that could go anywhere where there was space big enough to set her small hoofs upon. One night I was coming down the slope of a mountain towards a narrow valley and river that were crossed by an old, abandoned flume, of which nothing was now left but the upright trestle-work and long horizontal string-piece. As the trail was very difficult and the mule's pace was slow, I found myself dozing at times, and at last I must have fallen asleep. I think I must have been awakened by a singular regularity in the movement of the mule--or else it was the monotony of step that had put me to sleep and the cessation of it awakened me. You see, at first I was not certain that I wasn't really dreaming. For the trail seemed to have disappeared; the wall of rock on one side had vanished also, and there appeared to be nothing ahead of me but the opposite hillside.” Uncle Sylvester stopped to look out of the window at a passing carriage. Then he went on. “The moon came out, and I saw what had happened. The mule, either of her own free will, or obeying some movement I had given the reins in my sleep, had swerved from the trail, got on top of the flume, and was actually walking across the valley on the narrow string-piece, a foot wide, half a mile long, and sixty feet from the ground. I knew,” he continued, examining his napkin thoughtfully, “that she was perfectly surefooted, and that if I kept quiet she could make the passage, but I suddenly remembered that midway there was a break and gap of twenty feet in the continuous line, and that the string-piece was too narrow to allow her to turn round and retrace her steps.” “Good heavens!” said Cousin Jane. “I beg your pardon?” said Uncle Sylvester politely. “I only said, 'Good heavens!' Well?” she added impatiently. “Well?” repeated Uncle Sylvester vaguely. “Oh, that's all. I only wanted to explain what I meant by saying I had ridden in my sleep.” “But,” said Cousin Jane, leaning across the table with grim deliberation and emphasizing each word with the handle of her knife, “how--did--you--and--that--mule get down?” “Oh, with slings and ropes, you know--so,” demonstrating by placing his napkin-ring in a sling made of his napkin. “And I suppose you carried the slings and ropes with you in your five trunks!” gasped Cousin Jane. “No. Fellows on the river brought 'em in the morning. Mighty spry chaps, those river miners.” “Very!” said Cousin Jane.