ny
pilgrim. The men who came to tell of the final completion of the tree
and the greater preparations for the feast were assured that the one
tiny guest for whom their labors of love were being expended would
surely be ready to enjoy the celebration.

The afternoon gave way to night in the manner common to wintry days.
From time to time a gust of wind tore the fleece from the clouds and
hurled it in snow upon the silent earth. Dimly the lights of the
cabins shone through the darkness and the chill.

At the blacksmith's shop the wind went in as if to warm itself before
the forge, only to find it chill and black, wherefore it crept out
again at the creaking door. A long, straight pencil of snow was flung
through a chink, across the earthen floor and against the swaying
Christmas-tree, on which the, presents, hanging in readiness for little
Skeezucks, beat out a dull, monotonous clatter of tin and wood as they
collided in the draught.

The morning--Christmas morning--broke with one bright gleam of
sunlight, shining through the leaden banks before the cover of clouds
was once more dropped upon the broken rim of mountains all about.

Old Jim was out of his bunk betimes, cooking a breakfast fit, he said,
"to tempt a skeleton to feast."

True to his scheme of ensnaring the gray old miner in an idleness with
regard to his mine which should soon prove a fatal mistake, Parky, the
gambler, had sent a load of the choicest provisions from the store to
the cabin on the hill. Only too glad of the daintier morsels thus
supplied for his ailing little guest, old Jim had made but feeble
protest when the things arrived, and now was preparing a meal from the
nicest of the packages.

Little Skeezucks, however, waked in a mood of lethargy not to be
fathomed by mere affection. Not only did he turn away at the mere
suggestion of eating, but he feebly hid his face and gave a little moan.

"He ain't no better," Jim announced, putting down a breakfast-dish with
its cargo quite untasted. "I wish we had a little bit of medicine."

"What kind?" said the worried Keno.

"It wouldn't make much difference," answered the miner. "Anything is
medicine that a doctor prescribes, even if it's only sugar-and-water."

"But there ain't a doctor into camp," objected Keno, hauling at his
sleeves. "And the one they had in Bullionville has went away, and he
was fifty miles from here."

"I know," said Jim.

"You don't think he's sick?" inquired