ite me a letter, love; send me a letter, love!'

"That's what you heard, and a mighty purty song it is too, and kinder
clings to you. It's wonderful how these things gets in your head."

"The letter--write--send money--money--money, and the photograph--the
photograph--photograph--money," continued the sick man, in the rapid
reiteration of delirium.

"In course you will--to-morrow--when the mail goes," returned Daddy
soothingly; "plenty of them. Jest now you try to get a snooze, will ye?
Hol' on!--take some o' this."

There was an anodyne mixture on the rude shelf, which the doctor had
left on his morning visit. Daddy had a comfortable belief that what
would relieve pain would also check delirium, and he accordingly
measured out a dose with a liberal margin to allow of waste by the
patient in swallowing in his semi-conscious state. As he lay more quiet,
muttering still, but now unintelligibly, Daddy, waiting for a more
complete unconsciousness and the opportunity to slip away to Falloner's,
cast his eyes around the cabin. He noticed now for the first time since
his entrance that a crumpled envelope bearing a Western post-mark was
lying at the foot of the bed. Daddy knew that the tri-weekly post had
arrived an hour before he came, and that Lasham had evidently received a
letter. Sure enough the letter itself was lying against the wall beside
him. It was open. Daddy felt justified in reading it.

It was curt and businesslike, stating that unless Lasham at once sent
a remittance for the support of his brother and sister--two children in
charge of the writer--they must find a home elsewhere. That the arrears
were long standing, and the repeated promises of Lasham to send money
had been unfulfilled. That the writer could stand it no longer. This
would be his last communication unless the money were sent forthwith.

It was by no means a novel or, under the circumstances, a shocking
disclosure to Daddy. He had seen similar missives from daughters, and
even wives, consequent on the varying fortunes of his neighbors; no one
knew better than he the uncertainties of a miner's prospects, and
yet the inevitable hopefulness that buoyed him up. He tossed it aside
impatiently, when his eye caught a strip of paper he had overlooked
lying upon the blanket near the envelope. It contained a few lines in
an unformed boyish hand addressed to "my brother," and evidently slipped
into the letter after it was written. By the uncertain candle