-ready eye for business, so father
and Tad were forced to rent the cabin they had built and paid for. That
winter was the one your sister Mabel was taken from us, and the last year
we were all together."

She stopped and gazed into the fire, seemingly forgetting the boy who sat
by her side. Then she reached forward and placed the last stick on the
slowly-dying embers. As it caught, and the flames leaped into the chimney
in response to the wind outside, she continued:

"The next summer was the last. I never knew just how it happened exactly;
but some way, while making a new side drift in the tunnel, a blast went
off prematurely, and he was caught in the falling rocks and crushed to
death. Uncle Joe wrote me the particulars--all that I ever had.

"He was too badly mangled to be recognized, so even before I knew of the
accident his poor, broken body was laid to rest under the pines in
Evergreen Cemetery. The tunnel was closed and locked, and your uncle
packed father's few belongings in the little old trunk I gave you last
spring for your own and sent it home--all that I ever saw again of your
father.

"Then followed the terrible fever that nearly took my life. How I prayed,
my boy, that I might die, so great was my sorrow and utter loneliness;
but the Great Father saw fit to keep me here, and now I am thankful. He
needed me to help you become a man. When I was so sick grandfather
came and brought us home, and here we have been ever since."

"But, mother, have you never wanted to go to Colorado?"

"Yes, son, I've often thought I would be happier there, but father has
never thought so. I've often promised Aunt Lucy we'd come. I'm afraid she
won't be long for this world, for she has a very serious tubercular
trouble. You must never mention it, son, but your grandfather never had
any use for Uncle Joe, and was very much opposed to Lucy's marrying him,
so they slipped off and were married secretly. She has never felt like
coming home since--not even for a visit. Father gets very lonely for her,
for she was the life of the old home. I would not be surprised, son, if I
should be called to her bedside any time now, for she is very low."

"Mother, if such a thing should happen, you'd take me with you, wouldn't
you?" eagerly asked Willis.

"Of course I would, my son."

"And perhaps I could find father's tunnel. Say, mother, did you ever hear
what became of that Tad Kieser after father's death?" he inquired.

"No, son, I n