about to blossom,
be nearly as happy as the sweet old carnival itself, but up at the
cabin on the hill it was far from being joyous.

The tiny mite of a foundling was not so well as when his friends had
left him on the previous afternoon.

He was up and dressed, sitting, in his grave little way, on the miner's
knee, weakly holding his crushed-looking doll, but his cold had
increased, his sweet baby face was paler, the sad, dumb look in his
eyes was deeper in its questioning, the breakfast that the fond old Jim
had prepared was quite untasted.

"He ain't agoin' to be right down sick, of course?" said the
blacksmith, come to report all the progress made. "Natchelly, we'd
better go on, gittin' ready fer the banquet? He'll be all right fer
to-morrow?"

"Oh yes," said Jim. "There never yet was a Christmas that wouldn't get
a little youngster well. He'll come to the tree, you bet. It's goin'
to be the happiest time he ever had."

Outside, the red-headed Keno was chopping at the brush. The weather
was cold and windy, the sky gray and forbidding. When the smith had
gone, old Jim, little Skeezucks, and the pup were alone. Tintoretto,
the joyous, was prancing about with a boot in his jaws. He stumbled
constantly over its bulk, and growled anew at every interference with
his locomotion.

"Does little pardner like the pup?" said Jim, patting the sick little
man on the back with his clumsy but comforting hand. "Do you want him
to come here and play?"

The wee bit of a parentless, deserted boy slowly shook his head.

"Don't you like him any more?" said Jim.

A weak little nod was the answer.

"Is there anything the baby wants?" inquired the miner, tenderly.
"What would little Skeezucks like?"

For the very first time since his coming to the camp the little
fellow's brown eyes abruptly filled with tears. His tiny lip began to
tremble.

"Bruv-ver Jim," he said, and, leaning against the rough old coat of the
miner, he cried in his silent way of passionate longing, far too deep
in his childish nature for the man to comprehend.

"Poor little man ain't well," said Jim, in a gentle way of soothing.
"Bruvver Jim is here all right, and goin' to stay," and, holding the
quiet little figure to his heart, he stood up and walked with him up
and down the dingy cabin's length, till the shaking little sobs had
ceased and the sad little man had gone to sleep.

All day the miner watched the sleeping or the waking of the ti