"I'm from Californy—was up in the mines mostly."
"Did you have much luck?"
"Wal, I made two or three piles, an' lost 'em agin. However, I've got a little left. I've always wanted to see York, and thought I might as well come on and see it before I lost the last."
"I'm glad to meet you," said Lyman, who was speculating as to whether he couldn't make a little something out of his new friend, before his "pile" was wholly reduced in size. "I'm an old Californian myself."
"You don't say so? when was you there?"
Lyman mentioned the time, and the country where he had courted fortune.
"You don't say, stranger?" returned the miner. "Why, I was at that identical place myself. I bought a mine—leastways me and my partner did—of an old man, named Taylor."
"Anthony Taylor?" asked Lyman, eagerly.
"That was the old fellow's name. Did you know him, stranger?"
"I should say I did. He is my uncle. Did you—pay much for the claim?"