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the Aberfoyle mines.

One man alone remained by James Starr. This was the overman,



Simon Ford. Near him stood a boy, about fifteen years of age,

who for some years already had been employed down below.



James Starr and Simon Ford knew and esteemed each other well.

"Good-by, Simon," said the engineer.



"Good-by, Mr. Starr," replied the overman, "let me add,

till we meet again!"



"Yes, till we meet again. Ford!" answered James Starr. "You know

that I shall be always glad to see you, and talk over old times."



"I know that, Mr. Starr."

"My house in Edinburgh is always open to you."



"It's a long way off, is Edinburgh!" answered the man shaking his head.

"Ay, a long way from the Dochart pit."



"A long way, Simon? Where do you mean to live?"

"Even here, Mr. Starr! We're not going to leave the mine,



our good old nurse, just because her milk is dried up!

My wife, my boy, and myself, we mean to remain faithful to her!"



"Good-by then, Simon," replied the engineer, whose voice,

in spite of himself, betrayed some emotion.



"No, I tell you, it's TILL WE MEET AGAIN, Mr. Starr,

and not Just 'good-by,'" returned the foreman. "Mark my words,



Aberfoyle will see you again!"

The engineer did not try to dispel the man's illusion. He



patted Harry's head, again wrung the father's hand, and left the mine.

All this had taken place ten years ago; but, notwithstanding the wish



which the overman had expressed to see him again, during that time

Starr had heard nothing of him. It was after ten years of separation



that he got this letter from Simon Ford, requesting him to take without

delay the road to the old Aberfoyle colliery.



A communication of an interesting nature, what could it be?

Dochart pit. Yarrow shaft! What recollections of the past



these names brought back to him! Yes, that was a fine time,

that of work, of struggle,--the best part of the engineer's life.



Starr re-read his letter. He pondered over it in all its bearings.

He much regretted that just a line more had not been added



by Ford. He wished he had not been quite so laconic.

Was it possible that the old foreman had discovered some



new vein? No! Starr remembered with what minute care the mines

had been explored before the definite cessation of the works.



He had himself proceeded to the lowest soundings without finding

the least trace in the soil, burrowed in every direction.



They had even attempted to find coal under strata which are usually

below it, such as the Devonian red sandstone, but without result.



James Starr had thereforeabandoned the mine with the absolute

conviction that it did not contain another bit of coal.



"No," he repeated, "no! How is it possible that anything

which could have escaped my researches, should be revealed



to those of Simon Ford. However, the old overman must well

know that such a discovery would be the one thing in the world



to interest me, and this invitation, which I must keep secret,

to repair to the Dochart pit!" James Starr always came



back to that.

On the other hand, the engineer knew Ford to be a clever miner,



peculiarly endowed with the instinct of his trade.

He had not seen him since the time when the Aberfoyle



colliery was abandoned, and did not know either what he was

doing or where he was living, with his wife and his son.



All that he now knew was, that a rendezvous had been appointed

him at the Yarrow shaft, and that Harry, Simon Ford's son,



was to wait for him during the whole of the next day at

the Callander station.



"I shall go, I shall go!" said Starr, his excitement increasing

as the time drew near.



Our worthy engineer belonged to that class of men whose brain is always

on the boil, like a kettle on a hot fire. In some of these brain



kettles the ideas bubble over, in others they just simmer quietly.

Now on this day, James Starr's ideas were boiling fast.



But suddenly an unexpectedincident occurred. This was the drop of cold

water, which in a moment was to condense all the vapors of the brain.



About six in the evening, by the third post, Starr's servant brought

him a second letter. This letter was enclosed in a coarse envelope,



and evidently directed by a hand unaccustomed to the use of a pen.

James Starr tore it open. It contained only a scrap of paper,






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