in Post scriptum remark to me, sez she--

"Samantha, I know well your knowledge of sickness and your powers of
takin' care of the sick. Do come and help me take care of Ralph, for it
seems as if I can't let him go. Poor boy, he has worked so hard, and now
I wuz in hopes that he wuz goin' to take some comfort in life, unbeknown
to him. Do come and help him for my sake, and for Rosy's sake." Rosy wuz
Ralph's only child, a pretty girl, but one ruther wild, and needin' jest
now a father's strong hand.

Rosy's mother died when she wuz a babe, and Ralph, who had always
been dretful religius, felt it to be his duty to go and preach to the
savages. So Miss Timson took the baby and Ralph left all his property
with Miss Timson to use for her, and then he girded up his lions, took
his Bible and him book and went out West and tackled the savages.

Tackled 'em in a perfectly religius way, and done sights of good, sights
and sights. For all he wuz so mild and gentle and religius, he got the
upper hand of them savages in some way, and he brung 'em into the church
by droves, and they jest worshipped him.

Wall, he worked so hard a-tryin' to do good and save souls that wuz
lost--a-tryin' single-handed to overthrow barberus beliefs and habits,
and set up the pure and peaceful doctrines of the Master.

[Illustration: RALPH SMITH ROBINSON.]

He loved and followed, that his health gin out after a time--he felt
weak and mauger.

And jest about this time his sister wrote to him that Rosy havin' got
in with gay companions, wuz a gettin' beyond her influence, and she
_needed_ a father's control and firm hand to guide her right, or else
she would be liable to go to the wrong, and draw lots of others with
her, for she wuz a born leader amongst her mates, jest as her father
wuz--so wouldn't Ralph come home.

Wall, Ralph come. His sister and girl jest worshipped him, and looked
and longed for his comin', as only tender-hearted wimmen can love
and worship a hero. For if there wuz ever a hero it wuz Ralph Smith
Robinson.

Wall, Ralph had been in the unbroken silences of nature so long, that
the clack, and crash, and clamor of what we call civilized life almost
crazed him.

He had been where his Maker almost seemed to come down and walk with
him through the sweet, unbroken stillnesses of mornin' and evenin'. The
world seemed so fur off to him, and the Eternal Verities of life so
near, that truly, it sometimes seemed to him as if, like one