, you and your
mother and me."

The three little, bright-faced girls, the pretty mother, and the father
of the little flock stood there together to sing. They sang the hymn
old Jim had attempted to recall at his own little service that Sunday,
weeks before:

"Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on.
The night is dark and I am far from home.
Lead Thou me on.
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me."

The fresh, sweet voices of the three little girls sent a thrill of
pleasure through the hearts of the big, rough men, and the lumps arose
in their throats. One after another they joined in the singing, those
who knew no words as well as those who were quick to catch a line or
more.

Then at last the preacher held up his hand in his earnest supplication.

"Father," he said, in his simple way, "we are only a few of Thy
children, here in the hollow of Thy mountains, but we wish to share in
the beauty of Thy smile. We want to hear the comfort of Thy voice.
Away out here in the sage-brush we pray that Thou wilt find us and take
us home to Thy heart and love. Father, when Thou sendest Thy blessing
for this little child, send enough for all the boys. Amen."

And so the evening ended, and the night moved in majesty across the
mountains.

In the morning, soon after breakfasts were eaten, and Jim and the
preacher had come again to the home of the Dennihans, Webber, the
blacksmith, and Lufkins, the teamster, presently arrived with the
horses and carriage.

A large group of men swiftly gathered to bid good-bye to the children,
the shy little mother, and the fine young preacher.

"I'm sorry to go," he told them, honestly. "I like your little camp."

"It's goin' to be a rousin' town pretty soon, by jinks!" said Keno,
pulling at his sleeves. "I'm showin' up a great big ledge, on Jim's
Baberlonian claim."

"Mebbe you'll some day come back here, parson," said the smith.

"Perhaps I shall," he answered. Then a faint look of worry came on his
face as he thrust his hand in his pocket. "Before I forget it, you
must let me know what my bill is for board of the horses and also for
the work you've done."

Webber flushed crimson.

"There ain't no bill," he said. "What do you take us fellers
fer--since little Skeezucks came to camp? All we want is to shake
hands all 'round, with you and the missus and the little girls."

Old Jim, little S