As two of the
tunnel-men were returning from work one evening, they chanced to
look up the little trail, kept sacred from secular intrusion, that
led from the cemetery to the settlement. In the dim twilight,
against a sunset sky, they beheld a pale-faced girl riding slowly
toward them. With a delicate instinct, new to those rough men,
they drew closer in the shadow of the bushes until she passed.
There was no mistaking the familiar grotesqueness of Jinny; there
was no mistaking the languid grace of Miss Lawton. But a wreath of
wild roses was around Jinny's neck, from her long ears floated Miss
Jessie's hat ribbons, and a mischievous, girlish smile was upon
Miss Jessie's face, as fresh as the azaleas in her hair. By the
next day the story of this gentle apparition was known to a dozen
miners in camp, and all were sworn to secrecy. But the next
evening, and the next, from the safe shadows of the woods they
watched and drank in the beauty of that fanciful and all
unconscious procession. They kept their secret, and never a
whisper or footfall from these rough men broke its charm or
betrayed their presence.
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