t'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.

"Yes; it's both," he muttered. "Cholera-nicotine-fantum!" Then he
looked at his partner and winked wickedly. Without a word, he took
the limp young miner up in his arms and bore him down the hill to his
father's cabin, while Stumps and Madge ran along at either side, and
tenderly and all the time kept asking what was good for "cholera."

The other old "honest miner" lingered behind to pick up the baleful
pipe which he knew was somewhere there; and when the little party
was far enough down the hill, he took it up and buried it in his own
capacious pocket with a half-sorrowful laugh. "Poor little miner," he
sighed.

"Don't ever swear any more, Windy," pleaded the boy to the miner who
had carried him down the hill, as he leaned over him, "and don't never
lie. I am going to die, Windy, and I should like to be good. Windy, it
_ain't_ sunstroke, it's" ...

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

"Hush yer mouth," growled Windy. "I know what 'tis! We've left it on
the hill."

The boy turned his face to the wall. The conviction was strong upon
him that he was going to die, The world spun round now very, very fast
indeed. Finally, half-rising in bed, he called Little Stumps to his
side:

"Stumps, dear, good Little Stumps, if I die don't you never try for to
smoke; for that's what's the matter with me. No, Stumps--dear little
brother Stumps--don't you never try for to go the whole of the 'honest
miner,' for it can't be did by a boy! We're nothing but boys, you and
I, Stumps--Little Stumps."

He sank back in bed and Little Stumps and his sister cried and cried,
and kissed him and kissed him.

The miners who had gathered around loved him now, every one, for
daring to tell the truth and take the shame of his folly so bravely.

"I'm going to die, Windy," groaned the boy.

Windy could