"Well, we'll tell 'em," agreed the disappointed Lufkins. "What time do you think you'll fetch the little shaver, then, this afternoon?" "I guess about twelve," said Jim. "How's he feelin'?" inquired the carpenter. "Wal, he don't know how to feel on Christmas yet," answered the miner, evasively. "He doesn't know what's a-comin'." "Wait till he sees them blocks," said the carpenter, with a knowing wink. "I ain't sayin' nothin'," added Lufkins, with the most significant smile, "but you jest wait." "Nor me ain't doin' any talkin'," said Bone. "Well, the boys will all be waitin'," was the teamster's last remark, and slowly down the whitened hill they went, to join their fellows at the shop of the smith. The big, rough men did wait patiently, expectantly, loyally. Blowing out the candles, to save them for the moment when the tiny child should come, they sat around, or stood about, or wandered back and forth, each togged out in his very best, each with a new touch of Christmas meaning in his heart. Behind the tree a goodly portion of the banquet was in readiness. Keno's pie was there, together with a mighty stack of doughnuts, plates on plates of pickles, cans of fruit preserves, a mighty pan of cold baked beans, and a fine array of biscuits big as a man's two fists. From time to time the carpenter, who had saved up his appetite for nearly twenty-four hours, went back to the table and feasted his eyes on the spread. At length he took and ate a pickle. From that, at length, his gaze went longingly to Keno's pie. How one little pie could do any good to a score or so of men he failed to see. At last, in his hunger, he could bear the temptation no longer. He descended on the pie. But how it came to be shied through the window, practically intact, half a moment later, was never explained to the waiting crowd. By the time gray noon had come across the mountain desolation to the group of little shanties in the snow, old Jim was thoroughly alarmed. Little Skeezucks was helplessly lying in his arms, inert, breathing with difficulty, and now and again moaning, as only a sick little mite of humanity can. "We can't take him down," said the miner, at last. "He ought to have a woman's care." Keno was startled; his worry suddenly engulfed him. "What kin we do?" he asked, in helplessness. "Miss Doc's a decent woman," answered Jim, in despair. "She might know what to do." "You couldn't bring yourself to that?" asked Keno, thoroughly amazed. "I could bring myself to anything," said Jim, "if only my little boy could be well and happy." "Then you ain't agoin' to take him down to the tree?" "How can I?" answered Jim. "He's awful sick. He needs something more than I can give. He needs--a mother. I didn't know how sick he was gettin'. He won't look up. He couldn't see the tree. He can't be like the most of little kids, for he don't even seem to know it's Christmas." "Aw, poor little feller!" said Keno. "Jim, what we goin' to do?"