"
That any one might have been at home in the place was accounted for
simply by the fact that certain worthies, playing in and out of luck,
as the wheel of fate might turn them down or up, sometimes lived with
Jim for a month at a time, and sometimes left him in solitude for
weeks. One such transient partner he had left at the cabin when he
started off to get the pup now tagging at his heels. This
house-partner, having departed, might and might not return, either now,
a week from now, or ever.
The miner felt his way across the one big room which the shack
afforded, and came to a series of bunks, built like a pantry against
the wall. Into one of these he rolled his tiny foundling, after which
he lighted a candle that stood in a bottle, and revealed the smoky
interior of the place.
Three more of the bunks were built in the eastern end of the room; a
fireplace occupied a portion of the wall against the hill; a table
stood in the centre of the floor, and a number of mining tools littered
a corner. Cooking utensils were strewn on the table liberally, while
others hung against the wall or depended from hooks in the chimney.
This was practically all there was, but the place was home.
Tintoretto, beholding his master preparing a fire to heat up some food,
delved at once into everything and every place where a wet little nose
could be thrust.
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