her all about her parents right
then, and asked me if there wasn't some mystery about her birth, and the
way she happened to be left in the mission all her life, her mother
disappearing, and my adoption of her."

"What did you tell her, Gun?" I asked.

"Why, lied to her, of course, as any honorable man would have done. I
told her that her father was an engineer and a friend of mine, and that
he was killed in an accident before she was born--that was all plausible
enough.

"Then I told her that her mother was in poor health, and had died just
before I had adopted her, and had left a will, giving her to me, and
besides had left forty thousand dollars in the bank for her, when she
married or became of age.

"Well, John, cutting down short, she met a fellow over there, a New
Yorker, that just seemed to think she was made a-purpose for him, and
about a year ago he wrote and asked me for my daughter--just think of
it! His petition was seconded by the baby herself, and recommended by
Sister Florence.

"They came home six months ago, and the baby got ready for dress-parade;
and I went down to New York and seen 'em off; but here's where old Fate
gets in his work again. That rascal of an O. B. Sanderson--I didn't
notice the name before--was my own nephew, the very young cuss whose
picture kept me from marryin' the baby's mother! I never tumbled till I
ran across his mother, she was my sister Carrie.

"John, I don't care a continental cuss how good he was, the baby was
good enough for him--too good--I just said nothing--and watched the
signals. You ort to a seen me a-givin' the bride away! Then, when it was
all over, and I was childless, I give my little girl a check for
forty-seven thousand and a fraction; kissed her, and lit out for
home--and here I am.

"But I ain't satisfied now, and just as quick as I get back, I'm a-going
running again; then, when I've got so old I can't see more'n a car
length, I'm going to ask for a steam-pump to run. I'm a-going to die
railroading."

"Have you ever made any inquiries about the mother, Gun?" I asked.

"No; not much; it's so long now, it ain't no use; I guess that her
light's gone out."

"What would you do, if she was to turn up?"

"Well, I don't know; I guess I'd keep still and see what she done."

"Suppose, Gun, that she showed up now; loved you more than ever for what
you have done, and renewed her old proposal? You know it's leap year."

"Well, old man, if an angel fle