“Ain’t touched a keard afore, bless her,” whispered Euchre Buck, giving his neighbor Dan a nudge in the ribs to call attention to this wonderful piece of girlish innocence.  “Square a deal es George Washington mought ha’ made.”  Then, as the greasy pasteboards were turned up, and his neighbour was handed the ace of clubs, he raised his voice and yelled out, “Bully for you, Dan!  Cut away an’ clar yer cabin out.”

Away scampered Dan out into the darkness, with the rest of the crew at his heels.  Their home comforts were very small, poor fellows; but each gave of his best, though the gifts were often incongruous enough.  In half an hour the cabin was fitted out with a small cracked looking-glass, two combs, an old hair-brush,—­still wet from the wash,—­a pail, a frying-pan, three kettles, two three-legged stools, and so many blankets that some were requisitioned to carpet the floor.  The whole crowd accompanied Miss Musgrave to her door and gave her a cheer by way of good-night.  She bowed to them, smiling her thanks, and looking, as they thought, entrancingly lovely as she stood there, with the pale moonbeams falling full on her.

Then she turned to go in, but as Euchre Buck stepped forward with an admonishing cough, she waited and looked round at him.

“Miss,” said he, holding out a big revolver in his hard fist, “you take this yer gun, an’ ef any one whistles, or otherwise disturbs you, let a hole into him straight away, an’ we’ll see him buried decent.”

But Miss Musgrave courteously, and with profuse thanks, refused the offer, and, saying that she had perfect confidence in all who were around her, gave Euchre Buck a bewitching smile, went inside, and closed the door after he.

Then the diggers returned to Gustav Werstein’s American Bar and discussed the new arrival.

“I known Noomarket an’ Hascot an’ Hepson, an’ all the places where swells goes in England,” said Jockey Bill, enthusiastically; “but never one come there as pretty as she, stop my license if ther’ did.”

“Grand eyes, hain’t she?” said Tommy Dartmoor.  “Regular fust-water ’uns.  Here’s to ’em!”

“And-a-hoof!  See it peep below her gownd.  S’ welp me ef it wer’ es big as my ’bacca-box!”

“An’ ’er close, gentlemen!  Made to measure, every thread on ’em, I allow.”

“She’s a lady, boys,” exclaimed he who had offered to see after a funeral, “a reg’lar slap-up, high-toned, blow-yer-eyes-don’t-touch-me lady; an’ as she sees fit to do the civil to this fellar”—­striking himself on the chest—­“he’s just going to drop his professional name, an’ arsk yer to call him Mister Samuel K. Gregson, Esquire.  Play on that.”

Next morning the inhabitants of Big Stone Hole were startled by reading this announcement outside the cabin which Dan had resigned to Miss Musgrave: 

     SINGING AND MUSIC TAUGHT. 
     LITERARY WORK DONE.