the story he
had been sent down to tell. It was a long and complicated story as he
told it, and even when it was finished we could not be quite sure that
we had it right; but supposing that we had, it came to this:

Tom had worked faithfully on the Pelican, never having missed a day, and
had earned a very considerable sum of money, of which he had, with
commendable--and, for him, unusual--discretion, invested the greater
part in a little house, putting by one hundred and fifty dollars for his
own use during the coming summer. The fund reserved would have been
sufficient to see him through the prospecting season had he stuck to
it; but this was just what he had not done.

Two years before, a friend of his had been killed in one of the mines by
that most frequent of accidents: picking out a missed shot; since which
time the widow, a bustling, hearty Irishwoman, had supported herself and
her five children. But during the changeable weather of early spring,
Mrs. Murphy had been taken down with a severe attack of pneumonia--a
disease particularly dangerous at high altitudes--and distress reigned
in the family. As a matter of course, Tom, ever on the lookout to do
somebody a good turn, at once hopped in and took charge of everything;
providing a doctor and a nurse for his old friend's widow, and seeing
that the children wanted for nothing; and all with such success that he
brought his patient triumphantly out of her sickness; while as for
himself, when he modestly retired from the fray, he found that he was
just as poor as he had been at the beginning of winter.

It is not to be supposed, however, that this worried Tom. Not a bit of
it. It was unlucky, of course, but as it could not be helped there was
no more to be said; and so long as he owned that house of his he could
always raise one hundred and fifty dollars on it--it was worth three or
four times as much, at least.

As the prospecting season was now approaching, he therefore let it be
known that he desired to raise this money, and then quietly went on with
his work again, feeling confident that some one would presently make his
appearance, cash in hand, anxious to secure so good a loan. Up to that
morning, Seth believed, the expected capitalist had not turned up.

As the boy finished his story, and--with a sigh at having reached his
capacity--his meal as well, my father rose from his chair, exclaiming:

"What a good fellow that is! When it comes to practical char