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“‘Fraid of a dog! ‘Fraid of a dog!” shouted the miners again, laughing uproariously. The fun was better than they had anticipated.

“Is it true?” demanded Steven Long, in a hoarse voice.”Did you meet that girl at the Grotter yesterday?”

“I did meet Rosamond Ray at the Grotto yesterday,” answered the parson; “but—“

He never finished the sentence. A fragment of iron ore struck him on the temple. He fell, and died, his small body lying across the thief, whom he still protected, even in death.

The murder was not avenged; Steven Long was left to go his own way. But as the thief was also allowed to depart unmolested, the principles of border justice were held to have been amply satisfied.

The miners attended the funeral in a body, and even deputed one of their number to read the Episcopal burial service over the rough pine coffin, since there was no one else to do it. They brought out the chapel prayer-books, found the places, and followed as well as they could; for “he thought a deal of them books. Don’t you remember how he was always carrying ’em backward and forward, poor little chap!”

The Chapel of Saint John and Saint James was closed for the season. In the summer a new missionary arrived; he was not Ritualistic, and before the year was out he married Rosamond Ray.