"'Read it,' says he, shakin' like a man in drink; 'I can't.' An' I read: "'I am dyin' and alone among strangers; will you come to me fer the sake of my child.' There was an address thet made George groan, fer he 'd been all over thet great Babel of New York, an' knew jest the kind of place she was in. "Wal, he went; an' three days afterwards he come home with the dead body of the woman, as was his wife an' yet was n't--jest accordin' as you look at it--an' a live child thet was hers an' not his 'n, whichever way you look at it. "Sech things ain't nothin' new to you, I s'pose?" Cale turned to the Doctor. "What became of the man?" said the Doctor, without answering his question. During this recital his eyes never left Cale's face. "Dunno." "You don't know! What do you mean by that, Cale?" said Jamie. "I mean," he answered slowly, "thet George Jackson never did nothin' by halves. He come ter me one day--the day after the funeral--an' said he was goin' away. An' he did; sold out an' went away." "Did the child live?" Doctor Rugvie's voice broke the silence somewhat sharply. I caught the flight of his thought; I am sure Jamie did also. "Yes, lived ter be a blessing ter all she come nigh. She war n't more 'n three days old when he brought her home to Keziah. Happy was dead when he found her; more 'n thet he never told us. He left something for them with Lawyer Green--he told me he should do it. They lived on thet in part; it helped ter support 'em, fer they was in a tight place. Thet was how Job's luck came at last, poor soul--little enough it was. He kept on fer years, I heard, but was always weak-minded after he was told what had happened. They said he always used ter call the baby 'Happy', an' could n't bear her out of his sight. Then, when she was 'bout fourteen, he turned against her, an' kept thinkin' it was Happy herself; kept harpin' on her marriage to George, an' flingin' of what she 'd done inter her face, till the child could n't stand it no more. She never knew the whole truth, they said, till she was fifteen; then somebody was willin' ter tell her"--Cale smiled grimly--"as _they_ see it, an' it 'bout finished what Job begun. I heard she never tasted a morsel of food for two days. The last I heard about her was, she was keepin' the district school. It's been most ten years now sence I heard anything; you don't often meet a man from our way up in Manitoba or the river basin of British Columbia, an' I never was no hand at writin'. Sometime I mean ter look her up. I ain't been able ter do fer her as I 'd ought ter, fer I had bad luck fer too many years--them pesky western wildcat banks cleaned me out twice." "By what name was the child christened?" asked the Doctor. "Never was christened thet I know of." "Oh, Cale, if only they had been happier!" It was Jamie who spoke with almost a groan.