id of will happen. Then, as soon as they see things brighten
up a bit, they're as sure as fate everything's bound to go right. They
don't seem to have any kind of feeling between. They hate making up
their minds, most of 'em as I've known, and jump from being ready to
drown themselves one moment to being likely to go mad with joy another.
Anyhow you take 'em, they're better than men, though. I'll never go back
on that.

So Aileen used to send me and Jim long letters now, telling us that
things were better at home, and that she really thought mother was
cheerfuller and stronger in health than she'd been ever since--well,
ever since--that had happened. She thought her prayers had been heard,
and that we were going to be forgiven for our sins and allowed, by
God's mercy, to lead a new life. She quite believed in our leaving the
country, although her heart would be nearly broken by the thought that
she might never see us again, and a lot more of the same sort.

Poor mother! she had a hard time of it if ever any one ever had in this
world, and none of it her own fault as I could ever see. Some people
gets punished in this world for the sins other people commit. I can
see that fast enough. Whether they get it made up to 'em afterwards, of
course I can't say. They ought to, anyhow, if it can be made up to 'em.
Some things that are suffered in this world can't be paid for, I don't
care how they fix it.

More than once, too, there was a line or two on a scrap of paper slipped
in Aileen's letters from Gracey Storefield. She wasn't half as good with
the pen as Aileen, but a few words from the woman you love goes a long
way, no matter what sort of a fist she writes. Gracey made shift to tell
me she was so proud to hear I was doing well; that Aileen's eyes had
been twice as bright lately; that mother looked better than she'd seen
her this years; and if I could get away to any other country she'd
meet me in Melbourne, and would be, as she'd always been, 'your own
Gracey'--that's the way it was signed.

When I read this I felt a different man. I stood up and took an
oath--solemn, mind you, and I intended to keep it--that if I got clear
away I'd pay her for her love and true heart with my life, what was left
of it, and I'd never do another crooked thing as long as I lived. Then I
began to count the days to Christmas.

I wasn't married like Jim, and it not being very lively in the tent at
night, Arizona Bill and I mostly used to st