as
incoherent as the babble of the children themselves. It was a sight of
mother-love rarely to be witnessed, a sight which, under normal
conditions, must have filled the simple heart of Scipio with a joy and
happiness quite beyond words.

But just now it left him untouched, and as he silently looked on he
passed one hand helplessly across his forehead. He pushed his hat back
so that his stubby fingers could rake amongst his yellow hair. And
Jessie, suddenly looking up from the two heads nestling so close
against her bosom, realized the trouble in her husband's face. Her
realization came with a swiftness that would have been impossible in
those old days of discontent.

"Why, Zip," she cried, starting to her feet and coming quickly towards
him, "what--what's the matter? What's wrong?"

But the little man only shook his head dazedly, and his eyes wandered
from her face to the two silently staring children, and then to the
table so carefully laid for the midday meal.

"Here, sit down," Jessie hurried on, darting towards a chair and
setting it for him beside the stove. "You're sick, sure," she
declared, peering into his pale face, as he silently, almost
helplessly, obeyed her. "It's the sun," she went on. "That's what it
is--driving in the sun all yesterday. It's--it's been too much for
you."

Again the man passed a hand across his brow. But this time he shook
his head.

"'Tain't the sun, Jess," he said vaguely. "It's--it's oil!"

For a moment the woman stared. Then she turned to the gaping twins,
and hustled them out of the room to play. Poor Zip's head had suddenly
gone wrong, she believed, and--

But as she came back from the door she found that he had risen from
the chair in which she had set him, and was standing looking at her,
and through her, and beyond her, as though she were not there at all.
And in an instant she was at his side, with an arm thrown protectingly
about his shoulders.

"Tell me, Zip--oh, tell me, dear, what's wrong? Surely--surely, after
all that has gone--Oh, tell me! Don't keep me in suspense. Is--is it
James?" she finished up in a terrified whisper.

The mention of that detested name had instant effect. Scipio's face
cleared, and the dazed look of his eyes vanished as if by magic. He
shook his head.

"James is dead," he said simply. And Jessie breathed a sigh of such
relief that even he observed it, and it gladdened him. "Yes," he went
on, "James is sure dead. Wild Bill done him