light Daddy
read as follows:--

Dear Brother, Rite to me and Cissy rite off. Why aint you done it? It's
so long since you rote any. Mister Recketts ses you dont care any more.
Wen you rite send your fotograff. Folks here ses I aint got no big
bruther any way, as I disremember his looks, and cant say wots like him.
Cissy's kryin' all along of it. I've got a hedake. William Walker make
it ake by a blo. So no more at present from your loving little bruther
Jim.

The quick, hysteric laugh with which Daddy read this was quite
consistent with his responsive, emotional nature; so, too, were the
ready tears that sprang to his eyes. He put the candle down unsteadily,
with a casual glance at the sick man. It was notable, however, that
this look contained less sympathy for the ailing "big brother" than his
emotion might have suggested. For Daddy was carried quite away by his
own mental picture of the helpless children, and eager only to relate
his impressions of the incident. He cast another glance at the invalid,
thrust the papers into his pocket, and clapping on his hat slipped from
the cabin and ran to the house of festivity. Yet it was characteristic
of the man, and so engrossed was he by his one idea, that to the usual
inquiries regarding his patient he answered, "he's all right," and
plunged at once into the incident of the dunning letter, reserving--with
the instinct of an emotional artist--the child's missive until the last.
As he expected, the money demand was received with indignant criticisms
of the writer.

"That's just like 'em in the States," said Captain Fletcher; "darned if
they don't believe we've only got to bore a hole in the ground and snake
out a hundred dollars. Why, there's my wife--with a heap of hoss sense
in everything else--is allus wonderin' why I can't rake in a cool fifty
betwixt one steamer day and another."

"That's nothin' to my old dad," interrupted Gus Houston, the "infant"
of the camp, a bright-eyed young fellow of twenty; "why, he wrote to me
yesterday that if I'd only pick up a single piece of gold every day and
just put it aside, sayin' 'That's for popper and mommer,' and not fool
it away--it would be all they'd ask of me."

"That's so," added another; "these ignorant relations is just the ruin
o' the mining industry. Bob Falloner hez bin lucky in his strike to-day,
but he's a darned sight luckier in being without kith or kin that he
knows of."

Daddy waited until the momentary ir