“Fire-water was abundant that night, and horrible revelry and dancing. But sleep stole over the camp at last; and then we felt our time had come. We had left them leagues on leagues ere morning light. But we took little rest till we were far, far away in the southern and western states.
“This did not quite tire Jack and me of adventure and travel. No; we just worked for a year, and then, once more accoutring ourselves, we made tracks for the mountain-forests. The gold fever had broken out, and we had caught it, only we determined to go prospecting all by our two selves. And a good thing we did. We built ourselves a house. Jack called it ‘the little hut among the bushes.’ Some of the bushes, gentlemen, were three hundred feet in height. We found gold, too. Fact is, we had a small mine all to ourselves. As soon as we made a pile, we used to go south, disguised as poor trappers, to sell our skins and fill our powder-flasks; but, in reality, to bank our gold.
“We’ve made all we want. The mine itself is sold, and well sold; and as soon as we have shown you a bit of life in the backwoods, we shan’t be sorry to return to our dear auld Hielan’ hills once more.”
The huntsman finished speaking, and soon after our heroes turned in for the night, and the silence was unbroken—the silence of the dark primeval forest.
Chapter Twenty Two.
Merrie England—A Week at Willoughby Place—Our Heroes Part—A Pleasant Re-union, on which the Curtain drops.
It was a lovely evening towards the close of an autumn day, many months after the events related in the last chapter, that you might have seen a carriage and pair, drawn up at the gate of the down station of the quiet little village of Twintleton. There was but one person on the platform, a tall, elderly gentleman, who was pacing up and down with evident impatience. When I tell you that the proud crest of the Willoughbys was emblazoned on the panels of the carriage, you will guess that the gentleman himself was none other than Frank’s father.