ver a shinny-bat he
traded me out of, and I started to say a' awful cuss-word at him, and
then I ricollected what you said about my maw a-watching me all the
time, and I never said a thing to him but 'Dad burn your ole soul!'"

I congratulated the "pure scholar" on his great victory, and encouraged
him to press on.

_Wednesday, Bed-time._

To-day was Mother's birthday. While I was placing a bowl of asters
before her picture over my fireboard, Nucky came in, and I spoke to him
about her, telling him how her love and courage had sustained me through
deepest sorrow, and how terribly I miss her now. After a while he said,
in a low voice, "I miss my maw, too."

"Tell me about her," I said.

Then, little by little, and often with great difficulty, and with long
silences, he told me the story of his mother; how devoted she had been
to her children, and how eager that they, and especially he, should get
learning, teaching him what she could, getting a little district school
established on Trigger three years ago, and coming over herself to this
school last April to try and get him in here, being nag-flung on her way
home, and sustaining injuries which caused her to die a month later when
her last baby was born; how on her deathbed she had called her family
around her, and given them her love and blessing and advice, asking her
husband never to put a "step-maw" over her children, and leaving them
all in Blant's charge, confiding to his special care the day-old baby,
"your paw being too puny to set up with it of nights," and passing away
at last clinging to them and weeping bitter tears that she must leave
them. He also told how Blant had accepted his sacred trust; tenderly
and tirelessly minding the younger children, cooking and cleaning; when
not out tending the crop, clearing new-ground, logging and the like, and
how, above all, he has devoted himself to "the babe," patiently walking
the floor with it at night, warming its bottle, jolting it on his knee,
toasting its little feet before the fire, sleeping with it on his arm,
and "making it sugar-teats and soot-tea as good as a woman." This being
the same Blant who "never goes out without a gun," and has done such
notable slaughter in the hereditary "war" with the Cheevers!

I own to a large curiosity to behold this hero--more than ever since I
heard what Nucky told me to-day. I am glad that the visit to Trigger
comes the end of this week.

XI

OVER ON TRI