ithout a word, he took the limp
young miner up in his arms and bore him down the hill to his father's
cabin, while Stumps and Madge ran along at either side, and tenderly and
all the time kept asking what was good for "cholera."

The other old "honest miner" lingered behind to pick up the baleful pipe
which he knew was somewhere there; and when the little party was far
enough down the hill, he took it up and buried it in his own capacious
pocket with a half-sorrowful laugh. "Poor little miner," he sighed.

"Don't ever swear any more, Windy," pleaded the boy to the miner who had
carried him down the hill, as he leaned over him, "and don't never lie.
I am going to die, Windy, and I should like to be good. Windy, it
_ain't_ sunstroke, it's"--

"Hush yer mouth," growled Windy. "I know what 'tis! We've left it on the
hill."

The boy turned his face to the wall. The conviction was strong upon him
that he was going to die. The world spun round now very, very fast
indeed. Finally, half-rising in bed, he called Little Stumps to his
side:

"Stumps, dear, good Little Stumps, if I die don't you never, never try
for to smoke; for that's what's the matter with me. No, Stumps--dear
little brother Stumps--don't you never try for to go the whole of the
'honest miner,' for it can't be did by a boy! We're nothing but boys,
you and I, Stumps--Little Stumps."

He sank back in bed and Little Stumps and his sister cried and cried,
and kissed him and kissed him.

The miners who had gathered around loved him now, every one, for daring
to tell the truth and take the shame of his folly so bravely.

"I'm going to die, Windy," groaned the boy.

Windy could stand no more of it. He took Jim's hand with a cheery laugh.
"Git well in half an hour," said he, "now that you've out with the
truth."

And so he did. By the time his father came home he was sitting up; and
he ate breakfast the next morning as if nothing had happened. But he
never tried to smoke any more as long as he lived. And he never lied,
and he never swore any more.

Oh, no! this Jim that I have been telling you of is "Moral Jim," of the
Sierras. The mine? Oh! I almost forgot. Well, that blue dirt was the old
bed of the stream, and it was ten times richer than where the miners
were all at work below. Struck it! I should say so! Ask any of the old
Sierras miners about "The Children's Claim," if you want to hear just
how rich they struck it.

A MODERN HERO

It was a