, he rose and entered her room.

She was still lying in a huddled heap, face down upon the mattress, but
her head was turned to one side, exposing the flushed, tear-stained
cheek and swollen lids where the tears were scarcely dry. One thin arm
was still curved beneath her head, but the other had slipped away from
her face and lay stretched across the covers, the hand still loosely
clutching a damp ball of handkerchief. The pathetic little figure, still
quivering convulsively with every breath, touched the heart of the
selfish man, and drawing a five-dollar gold piece from his pocket he
slipped it inside the moist, brown fist. Then, as if realizing what a
paltry thing gold is in comparison with love, he stooped over the
flushed face and kissed it gently,--the first kiss he had ever given his
little daughter. She stirred, and the coin slipped from her hand, but
in his hasty retreat from the room he did not hear it fall to the floor,
roll across the light matting and lodge in a crack out of sight. So he
stilled the small, inner voice, and going to his room sought his couch
almost satisfied with himself.

The next morning when Tabitha awoke he was gone again, back to the mines
and their alluring gold, little realizing what a sore heart he had left
behind him in the cottage on the desert. At first she could not think
what had happened to leave such a heavy weight on her heart that the
very atmosphere seemed charged with grief, but as she rubbed the sleep
from her eyes, still hot and stinging from her cry, she remembered the
whole dreadful story, and in the sympathetic pillow she again buried her
face, too humiliated to meet the world, too discouraged to care.

She heard the clock on the mantel strike seven and lay dreading the call
to get up. In the kitchen Aunt Maria was busy bustling about the morning
work, getting breakfast, washing the dishes and sweeping. Once she heard
Tom's voice, but though she strained her ears, she could catch the sound
of no answering tones.

The clock struck eight. Aunt Maria never let her stay in bed that late,
even on Sundays, when they all slept a little longer than usual. There
was a knock at the kitchen door. Could it be Carrie on her way to
school? Not very likely, as the Carson house was nearer town than their
cottage, and it was always her place to call for Carrie. Besides, Carrie
was never ready on time, and they always had to hurry to reach school
before the last bell rang. Still, sh