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On Feather river he began to dig. How his heart beat, how his soul gloated over the first half ounce secured; how beautiful it was to gaze at, how sweet, how lovely, how pure! But not more pure or lovely or sweet or beautiful than Mary, who was awaiting him away back in Oregon. As his pile increased, his darling yellow pile which was to secure the loved object, he could not contain himself for joy. His comrades soon learned his heart's ambition, and once the ice was broken he was forever talking of it. Soon it was the standing joke of the camp. " Pet, how's your gal?" the boys used to ask when they wished to know of the day's success. " It's all right, boys. I'll get her, sure," was the customary reply. When fifty ounces were safely bagged—" She's mine, boys, she's mine," he used to say, or rather, sing; for his heart was singing, and the voice would echo it whether he would or no.

A hundred ounces, "Well, boys, I've got what I came for; I reckon I better go back and marry Mary now." Rather tamely this was said as compared with the late wild overflow of feeling. The fact is, his claim was paying well, and fascinated with gold-gathering, Simeon did not much like to leave it. Easily persuaded was he to remain and work a little longer.

After this the yield began rapidly to increase, until Simeon had secured five thousand dollars. With store clothes he put on a thoughtful and subdued demeanor, hired men to take his place in the ditch, and was soon worth ten thousand dollars, then twenty thousand. Little was said these days regarding Mary Finally he was asked, "Pet, how about that Oregon gal ? " Simeon hung his head a little as he said, " Well, the fact is, boys, her folks are mighty common, and couldn't give her much of a bringing up, and while she's good enough for a thousand dollars, I think I can afford a better one now."

One may be moderately shrewd with comparative