ate to tell you. But what he bought was a pipe and a paper of
tobacco!

That red shirt, that belt and broad-brimmed hat, together with the
shiny top boots, had been too much for Jim's balance. How could a
man--he spoke of himself as a man now--how could a man be an "honest
miner" and not smoke a pipe?

And now with his manly clothes and his manly pipe he was to be so
happy! He had all that went to make up "the honest miner." True, he
did not let his father know about the pipe. He hid it under his pillow
at night. He meant to have his first smoke at the sluice-box, as a
miner should.

Monday morning he was up with the sun and ready for his work. His
father, who worked down the Gulch, had already gone before the
children had finished their breakfast. So now Jim filled his bran-new
pipe 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!

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.

"Oh, 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--i