illars in their
evergreen, the flowers and leafy wreaths, the texts of white and
gold. "'Peace, good-will towards men,'" he read. "That's so. Peace and
good-will. Yes, that's so. I expect they got that somewheres in the
Bible. It's awful good, and you'd never think of it yourself."

There was a touch on his arm, and a woman handed a book to him. "This is
the hymn we have now," she whispered, gently; and Lin, blushing scarlet,
took it passively without a word. He and Billy stood up and held the
book together, dutifully reading the words:

"It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth
To touch their harps of gold;
Peace on the earth--"

This tune was more beautiful than all, and Lin lost himself in it,
until he found Billy recalling him with a finger upon the words, the
concluding ones:

"And the whole world sent back the song
Which now the angels sing."

The music rose and descended to its lovely and simple end; and, for a
second time in Denver, Lin brushed a hand across his eyes. He turned
his face from his neighbor, frowning crossly; and since the heart has
reasons which Reason does not know, he seemed to himself a fool; but
when the service was over and he came out, he repeated again, "'Peace
and good-will.' When I run on to the Bishop of Wyoming I'll tell him if
he'll preach on them words I'll be there."

"Couldn't we shoot your pistol now?" asked Billy.

"Sure, boy. Ain't yu' hungry, though?"

"No. I wish we were away off up there. Don't you?"

"The mountains? They look pretty, so white! A heap better 'n houses.
Why, we'll go there! There's trains to Golden. We'll shoot around among
the foothills."

To Golden they immediately went, and after a meal there, wandered in the
open country until the cartridges were gone, the sun was low, and Billy
was walked off his young heels--a truth he learned complete in one
horrid moment, and battled to conceal.

"Lame!" he echoed, angrily. "I ain't."

"Shucks!" said Lin, after the next ten steps. "You are, and both feet."

"Tell you, there's stones here, an' I'm just a-skipping them."

Lin, briefly, took the boy in his arms and carried him to Golden.
"I'm played out myself," he said, sitting in the hotel and looking
lugubriously at Billy on a bed. "And I ain't fit to have charge of a
hog." He came and put his hand on the boy's head.

"I'm not sick," said the cripple. "I tell you