pe very
leisurely; and with as much calm unconcern as if he had been smoking for
forty years, he stopped to scratch a match on the door as he went out.

From under his broad hat he saw his little sister watching him, and he
fairly swelled with importance as Stumps looked up at him with childish
wonder. Leaving Madge to wash the few tin dishes and follow as she could
with Little Stumps, he started on up the hill, pipe in mouth.

He met several miners, but he puffed away like a tug-boat against the
tide, and went on. His bright new boots whetted and creaked together,
the warm wind lifted the broad brim of his _sombrero_, and his bright
new red shirt was really beautiful, with the green grass and oaks for a
background--and so this brave young man climbed the hill to his mine.
Ah, he was so happy!

[Illustration: HE TOOK THE LIMP YOUNG MINER IN HIS ARMS.]

Suddenly, as he approached the claim, his knees began to smite together,
and he felt so weak he could hardly drag one foot after the other. He
threw down his pick; he began to tremble and spin around. The world
seemed to be turning over and over, and he trying in vain to hold on to
it. He jerked the pipe from his teeth, and throwing it down on the bank,
he tumbled down too, and clutching at the grass with both hands tried
hard, oh! so hard, to hold the world from slipping from under him.

"O, Jim, you are white as snow," cried Madge as she came up.

"White as 'er sunshine, an' blue, an' green too, sisser. Look at brurrer
'all colors,'" piped Little Stumps pitifully.

"O, Jim, Jim--brother Jim, what is the matter?" sobbed Madge.

"Sunstroke," murmured the young man, smiling grimly, like a true
Californian. "No; it is not sunstroke, it's--it's cholera," he added in
dismay over his falsehood.

Poor boy! he was sorry for this second lie too. He fairly groaned in
agony of body and soul.

Oh, how he did hate that pipe! How he did want to get up and jump on it
and smash it into a thousand pieces! But he could not get up or turn
around or move at all without betraying his unmanly secret.

A couple of miners came up, but Jim feebly begged them to go.

"Sunstroke," whispered the sister.

"No; tolera," piped poor Little Stumps.

"Get out! Leave me!" groaned the young red-shirted miner of the
Sierras.

The biggest of the two miners bent over him a moment.

"Yas; it's both," he muttered. "Cholera-nicotine-fantum!" Then he looked
at his partner and winked wickedly. W