"It's dada!" shrieked Lessels; "I knew he'd come. Look! he's walking in the sea, with all his clothes on; an' he's laughing; an' he hasn't got a shtick after all."
"What is all this about, boys?" asked the welcome visitor, pointing, as he spoke, to the fast disappearing camp.
"It's Klondyke, dada, that's all!" answered Lessels. "We digged for gold all day to buy you a lot of horses and tobacco, but we haven't found anything at all 'cept a bad nugget!"
"You're not the first miner who has done that, Lessels," was the comforting reply.
"I had a horrid dream about you, dad, when I was tired and fell asleep on the sand," said Stanley. "Guess what it was."
"Perhaps I was injured by one of the fine horses you were going to buy?"
"No, dad, it was much worse than that," was the earnest reply. "In my dream you were looking for us with a great stick in your hand."
"Dear old dad!" whispered Stanley, as he was being carried into safety, upside down, a few minutes later. "Dear old dad! You aren't very cross because we have lost your umberellar, and haven't got any nuggets, are you? And you won't turn nasty and spank us after we've made you laugh so?"
THE LAST OF THE CAMP.