"Do you want him
to come here and play?"
The wee bit of a parentless, deserted boy slowly shook his head.
"Don't you like him any more?" said Jim.
A weak little nod was the answer.
"Is there anything the baby wants?" inquired the miner, tenderly.
"What would little Skeezucks like?"
For the very first time since his coming to the camp the little
fellow's brown eyes abruptly filled with tears. His tiny lip began to
tremble.
"Bruv-ver Jim," he said, and, leaning against the rough old coat of the
miner, he cried in his silent way of passionate longing, far too deep
in his childish nature for the man to comprehend.
"Poor little man ain't well," said Jim, in a gentle way of soothing.
"Bruvver Jim is here all right, and goin' to stay," and, holding the
quiet little figure to his heart, he stood up and walked with him up
and down the dingy cabin's length, till the shaking little sobs had
ceased and the sad little man had gone to sleep.
All day the miner watched the sleeping or the waking of the tiny
pilgrim. The men who came to tell of the final completion of the tree
and the greater preparations for the feast were assured that the one
tiny guest for whom their labors of love were being expended would
surely be ready to enjoy the celebration.
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