That was a dinner to remember as long as one lived. The circumstances of its giving were so unusual and so generous, its surroundings were so unique, and its jolliness was so whole-hearted and spontaneous, that ever afterwards it was one of the bright spots in the memories of all who were present. When the eating was ended the men went outside and built a huge fire in front of the house; and then sat down around it and smoked their pipes and told stories and compared mining notes and discussed the ever-present questions of where the gold came from and how it got there, all of which would make interesting reading, but which, because of other events that are crowding forward, must be passed over thus briefly. For a couple of hours the talk around the camp-fire continued; Mrs. Dickson had joined the circle, and then Mr. and Mrs. Dickson both rose. "It's getting late and we must be going," declared Mrs. Dickson. "Not yit! Not yit! Not until you've sung for us!" cried Ham, jumping to his feet. "We can't let her go without a song, can we, boys?" The reply was an unanimous demand for the song; and Mrs. Dickson, smiling and bowing and blushing, like a happy schoolgirl, and declaring that she was afraid she had eaten too much to sing, straightened up her plump little body, threw back her head, and was about to begin to sing in the dark shadows where she stood, when Ham caught her by both her shoulders and gently pushed her out into the bright light of the camp-fire. "Th' song wouldn't sound nigh as good, if we couldn't see th' singer plain," he declared, his face seemingly one broad grin. "Thar, that's 'bout right," and he swung her around so that the brightest light shone full on her face. "Now give us good old 'Ben Bolt,' Somehow that song kinder seems tew sweeten me all up inside," and Ham sat down almost directly in front of Mrs. Dickson. Mrs. Dickson had a sweet, clear, bird-like voice, and what she lacked in training she more than made up in the feeling she put into the words she sang; and her singing always touched the hearts of these lonely miners deeply. But to-night, as she stood there, with the ruddy light of the camp-fire shining on her face and dimly illuminating the surrounding shadows of the lonely night and the towering mountains and the tall pine trees, and sang the beautiful words and melody of "Sweet Alice, Ben Bolt," she struck a deeper chord still, and all listened like men entranced until the last note died away in the silence of the encircling night. "I never knowed I liked music so well, 'til I heer'd th' Leetle Woman sing," declared Ham the moment the sound of Mrs. Dickson's voice ceased. "Her singin' seems tew come a-knockin' right at th' door of a feller's heart. Now, dew sing us another one," and he turned pleadingly to Mrs. Dickson. "Yes, I will sing you just one more song; and then we must be going. It must be nearly ten o'clock; and those two tired boys have been nodding their heads for the last half-hour."