remittance from Gowanlock and Van Duzer for some months to come, but he
would acquaint me with his address from time to time, and, if anything
arrived from them I could forward it to him.

And so, having seen the tombstone set up over little Charlie's grave,
he bade me good-bye, and that was the last time I ever saw him, alive.

There is little more to tell. I supposed him to be in the far west,
prosecuting his researches, until one night in the early spring of the
following year. Charlie and his mother had been interred in a corner of
the churchyard adjoining the second Baptist Church, which at that time
was on the very outskirts of the town, in a lonely, unfrequented spot,
not far from the iron bridge. Late in the evening of the seventh of
April, 1856, a woman passing along the road in the cold, dim twilight,
saw a bulky object stretched out on Charlie's grave. She called at the
nearest house, and stated her belief that a man was lying dead in the
churchyard. Upon investigation, her surmise proved to be correct.

And that man was Gagtooth.

Dead; partially no doubt, from cold and exposure; but chiefly, I
believe, from a broken heart. Where had he spent the six months which
had elapsed since I bade him farewell?

To this question I am unable to reply; but this much was evident: he
had dragged himself back just in time to die on the grave of the little
boy whom he had loved so dearly, and whose brief existence had probably
supplied the one bright spot in his father's life.

I had him buried in the same grave with Charlie; and there, on the