By some means, quite his own, the man appeared to realize that the
grave little fellow had never prattled as children usually do, and that
what he had said had been spoken with difficulties, only overcome by
stress of emotion. The mystery of whence a bit of a boy so tiny could
have come, and who he was, especially after his baby statement that
nobody wanted him, anywhere, remained unbroken, after all the miner's
queries. Jim was at length obliged to give it up.
"Do you like that little dog?" he said, as Tintoretto renewed his
overtures of companionship. "Do you like old brother Jim and the pup?"
Solemnly the little pilgrim nodded.
"Want some breakfast, all pretty, in our own little house?"
Once more the quaint and grave little nod was forthcoming.
"All right. We'll have it bustin' hot in the shake of a crockery
animal's tail," announced the miner.
He carried the mite of a man inside and placed him again in the bunk,
where the little fellow found his rabbit and drew it into his arms.
The banquet proved to be a repetition of the supper of the night
before, except that two great flapjacks were added to the menu, greased
with fat from the bacon and sprinkled a half-inch thick with soft brown
sugar.
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