Bruvver Jim's Baby
CHAPTER XVIII
WHEN THE PARSON DEPARTED
In the morning the preacher rolled up his sleeves and assisted Jim inpreparing breakfast in the cabin on the hill, where he and Doc, inaddition to Keno and the miner, had spent the night. Doc had departedat an early hour to take his morning meal at home. Keno was out in thebrush securing additional fuel, the supply of which was low.
"Jim," said Stowe, in the easy way so quickly adopted in the mines,"how does the camp happen to have this one little child? There seem tobe no families, and that I can understand, for Bullionville is much thesame; but where did you get the pretty little boy?"
"I found him out in the brush, way over to Coyote Valley," Jim replied."He was painted up to look like a little Piute, and the Injuns musthave lost him when they went through the valley hunting rabbits."
"Found him--out in the brush?" repeated the preacher. "Was he allalone?"
"Not quite. He had several dead rabbits for company," Jim drawled inreply, and he told all that was known, and all that the camp hadconjectured, concerning the finding of the grave little chap, and hisbrief and none too happy sojourn in Borealis.
The preacher listened with sympathetic attention.
"Poor little fellow," he said, at the end. "It someway makes me thinkof a thing that occurred near Bullionville. I was called toGiant-Powder Gulch to give a man a decent burial. He had been on athree-days' spree, and then had lain all night in the wet where thehorse-trough overflowed, and he died of quick pneumonia. Well, a manthere told me the fellow was a stranger to the Gulch. He said thedissolute creature had appeared, on the first occasion, with a verysmall child, a little boy, who he said had belonged to his sister, whowas dead. My informant said that just as soon as the fellow couldlearn the location of a near-by Indian camp he had carried the littleboy away. The man who told me of it never heard of the child again,and, in fact, had not been aware of the drunkard's return to the Gulch,till he heard the man had died, in the rear of a highly notorioussaloon. I wonder if it's possible this quiet little chap is the samelittle boy."
"It don't seem possible a livin' man--a white man--could have done athing like that," said Jim.
"No--it doesn't," Stowe agreed.
"And yet, it must have been in some such way little Skeezucks came tobe among the Injuns," Jim reflected, aloud. Then in a moment he added;"I'm glad you told me, parson. I know now the low-down brute that senthim off with the Piute hunters can't never come to Borealis and takehim away."
And yet, all through their homely breakfast old Jim was silentlythinking. A newer tenderness for the innocent, deserted little pilgrimwas welling in his heart.
Keno, having declared his intention of shovelling off the snow andopening up a trench to uncover the gold-ledge of the miner's claim,departed briskly when the meal was presently finished. Jim and thepreacher, with the pup, however, went at once to the home of MissDennihan, where the children were all thus early engaged in startingoff the day of romping and fun.
The lunch that came along at noon, and the dinner that the happy MissDoc prepared at dusk, were mere interruptions in the play of the tinyCarson and the lively little girls.
There never has been, and there never can be, a measure of childishhappiness, but surely never was a child in the world more happy thanthe quaint little waif who had sat all alone that bright Novemberafternoon in the brush where the Indian pony had dropped him. All thegames they had tried on the previous day were repeated anew by theyoungsters, and many freshly invented were enjoyed, including a romp inthe snow, with the sled that one of the miners had fashioned for theChristmas-tree.
That evening a larger contingent of the men who hungered for theatmosphere of home came early to the little house and joined in thegames. Laughter made them all one human family, and songs were sungthat took them back to farms and clearings and villages, far away inthe Eastern States, where sweethearts, mothers, wives, and sistersofttimes waited and waited for news of a wanderer, lured far away bythe glint of silver and gold. The notes of birds, the chatter ofbrooks, the tinkle of cow-bells came again, with the dreams of abarefoot boy.
Something of calm and a newer hope and fresher resolution wasvouchsafed to them all when the wholesome young preacher held a homelyservice, in response to their earnest request.
"Life is a mining for gold," said he, "and every human breast is amother-lode of the precious metal--if only some one can find theout-croppings, locate a claim, and come upon the ledge. There aretoils, privations, and sufferings, which the search for gold bringsforever in its train. There are pains and miseries and woe in thesearch for the gold in men, but, boys, it's a glorious life! There issomething so honest, so splendid, in taking the metal from the earth!No one is injured, every one is helped. And when the gold in a man isfound, think what a gift it is to the world and to God! I am a minermyself, but I make no gold. It is there, in the hill, or in the man,where God has put it away, and all that you and I can do is to work,though our hands be blistered and our hearts be sore, until we comeupon the treasure at the last. We hasten here, and we scramble there,wheresoever the glint seems brightest, the field most promising; butthe gold I seek is everywhere, and, boys, there is gold on gold inBorealis!
"In the depth of the tunnel or the shaft you need a candle, throwingout its welcome rays, to show you how to work the best and where todig, as you follow the lead. In the search for gold the way is veryoften dark, so we'll sing a hymn that I think you will like, and thenwe'll conclude with a prayer.
"Children--girls--we will all start it off together, you and yourmother and me."
The three little, bright-faced girls, the pretty mother, and the fatherof the little flock stood there together to sing. They sang the hymnold Jim had attempted to recall at his own little service that Sunday,weeks before:
"Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on. The night is dark and I am far from home. Lead Thou me on. Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene; one step enough for me."
The fresh, sweet voices of the three little girls sent a thrill ofpleasure through the hearts of the big, rough men, and the lumps arosein their throats. One after another they joined in the singing, thosewho knew no words as well as those who were quick to catch a line ormore.
Then at last the preacher held up his hand in his earnest supplication.
"Father," he said, in his simple way, "we are only a few of Thychildren, here in the hollow of Thy mountains, but we wish to share inthe beauty of Thy smile. We want to hear the comfort of Thy voice.Away out here in the sage-brush we pray that Thou wilt find us and takeus home to Thy heart and love. Father, when Thou sendest Thy blessingfor this little child, send enough for all the boys. Amen."
And so the evening ended, and the night moved in majesty across themountains.
In the morning, soon after breakfasts were eaten, and Jim and thepreacher had come again to the home of the Dennihans, Webber, theblacksmith, and Lufkins, the teamster, presently arrived with thehorses and carriage.
A large group of men swiftly gathered to bid good-bye to the children,the shy little mother, and the fine young preacher.
"I'm sorry to go," he told them, honestly. "I like your little camp."
"It's goin' to be a rousin' town pretty soon, by jinks!" said Keno,pulling at his sleeves. "I'm showin' up a great big ledge, on Jim'sBaberlonian claim."
"Mebbe you'll some day come back here, parson," said the smith.
"Perhaps I shall," he answered. Then a faint look of worry came on hisface as he thrust his hand in his pocket. "Before I forget it, youmust let me know what my bill is for board of the horses and also forthe work you've done."
Webber flushed crimson.
"There ain't no bill," he said. "What do you take us fellersfer--since little Skeezucks came to camp? All we want is to shakehands all 'round, with you and the missus and the little girls."
Old Jim, little Skeezucks, the pup, and Miss Doc, with Mrs
. Stowe, cameout through the snow to the road in front of the gate. Not a penny hadthe preacher been able to force upon the Dennihans for their lodgingand care.
The man tried to speak--to thank them all, but he failed. He shookhands "all around," however, and then his shy little wife and the threelittle girls did the same. Preacher and all, they kissed tiny Carson,sitting on the arm he knew so well, and holding fast to his doll; andhe placed his wee bit of a hand on the face of each of his bright-facedlittle friends. He understood almost nothing of what it meant to havehis visitors clamber into the carriage, nevertheless a grave littlequery came into his eyes.
"Well, Jim, good-bye again," said Stowe, and he shook the old miner'shand a final time. "Good-bye, Miss Dennihan--good-bye, boys."
With all the little youngsters in their bright red caps waving theirmittened hands and calling out good-bye, the awkward men, Miss Doc, oldJim, and tiny Skeezucks saw them drive away. Till they came to thebend of the road the children continued to wave, and then the greatravine received them as if to the arms of the mountains.