"
"If I'm goin' to do the preachin',' I'd like the shop first rate," said
Jim. "What day is to-day?"
"Friday," replied the teamster.
"All right. Then we'll say on Sunday we celebrate with church in
Webber's blacksmith shop," agreed old Jim, secretly delighted beyond
expression. "We won't git gay with anything too high-falootin', but
we'd ought to git Shorty Hobb to show up with his fiddle."
"Certain!" assented the barkeep. "You kin leave that part of the game
to me."
"If we've got it all settled, I reckon I'll go back up to the shack,"
said Jim. "The little feller 'ain't had a chance yet to play with his
doll."
"Is that a doll?" inquired the teamster, regarding the grave little
pilgrim's bundle of fur in curiosity. "How does he know it's a doll?"
"He knows a good sight more than lots of older people," answered Jim.
"And if only I've got the gumption I'll make him a whole slough of toys
and things."
"Well, leave us say good-bye to him 'fore you go," said the blacksmith.
"Does he savvy shakin' hands?"
He gave a little grip to the tiny hand that held the doll, and all the
others did the same. Little Skeezucks looked at them gravely, his
quaint baby face playing havoc with their rough hearts.
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