meeting, the superintendent's report that every vein in the mines had ceased to yield“ paying ore. It afterward carne out that he had read from the foot of the report a date much later than that affixed at themine. All summerlong he had known the truth, had suppressed it, and through men of straw, who held shares on his behalf, had victim- ized intimate friends, including my father. Never did ‘Silver Islet pay its unfortunate owners a six- pence thereafter. In that far-away venture dis- appeared what was meant for my little patrimony. And all without anybody being able to prove in a court of law the sharp practice and treachery of john Burbank.

Two of his nephews, Andrew and Mark, sat on a bench next mine at Wilson's School in Coté Street. They were not bad fellows at all, so far as I could see. But they were expected to break out at any time into badness and falseness by most of us boys who, boy-like, were disposed to visit the sins of the guilty on the heads of the innocent. The chimney-cowl of \Vilson's School, one night mischievously twisted into a note of interrogation, was plainly visible from my bed- room. It was in a class-room beneath that sooty chimney that I found the warmest friend of my life, Gerald Gray, whose family, in my school-days, had been our next-door neighbors. Gerald was a few months older than l . a good deal bigger, a