Then tenderly he fed the tea through the dry little lips. Dully the tiny man's unseeing eyes were fixed on his face. "Take it, for old Bruvver Jim," the man gently coaxed, and spoonful after spoonful, touched every time to his own mouth first, to try its heat, he urged upon the little patient. Then Miss Doc did a singular thing. She put on a shawl and, abruptly leaving the house, ran with all her might down the street, through the snow, to Bone's saloon. For the very first time in her life she entered this detested place, a blazing light of joy in her eyes. Six of the men, about to join the four already gone to the hill above, where Jim had found the gold, were about to leave for the claim. "He's come!" cried Miss Doc. "He's home--and got the weed! I thought you boys would like to know!" Then backing out, with a singular smile upon her face, she hastened to return to her home with all the speed the snow would permit. Alone in the house with the silent little pilgrim, who seemed beyond all human aid, the gray old miner knew not what he should do. The shrub tea was failing, it seemed to him. The sight of the drooping child was too much to be borne. The man threw back his head as he knelt there on the floor, and his stiffened arms were appealingly uplifted in prayer. "God Almighty," he said, in his broken voice of entreaty, "don't take this little boy away from me! Let him stay. Let him stay with me and the boys. You've got so many little youngsters there. For Christ's sake, let me have this one!" When Miss Doc came quietly in, old Jim had not apparently moved. He was once more dipping the pungent liquor from the cup and murmuring words of endearment and coaxing, to the all-unhearing little patient. The eager woman took off her shawl and stood behind him, watching intently. "Oh, Jim!" she said, from time to time--"oh, Jim!" With a new supply of boiling water, constantly heated on her stove, she kept the steaming concoction fresh and hot. Midnight came. The New Year was blown across those mighty peaks in storm and fury. Presently out of the howling gale came the sound of half a dozen shots, and then of a fusillade. But Jim, if he heard them, did not guess the all they meant to him. For an hour he had only moved his hands to take the pitcher, or to put it down, or to feed the drink to the tiny foundling, still so motionless and dull with the fever. One o'clock was finally gone, and two, and three. Jim and the yearning Miss Doc still battled on, like two united parents. Then at last the miner made a half-stifled sound in his throat. "You--can go and git a rest," he said, brokenly. "The sweat has come."