The winter days would have been endless, indeed, had not Virginia been there to cheer him. Mr. Hunter would not hear of his staying in the bunk-house, but brought him to the ranch,—and there, under Hannah’s faithful nursing, and Virginia’s companionship, the old man forgot a little of his chagrin and humiliation. Virginia read to him by the hour, nearly everything she had, and her books were many. Seventy is a strange age to receive a long-deferred education, but Jim profited by every chapter, even from “David Copperfield,” who, he privately thought, was “a white-livered kind of fool” and his patience in listening to David, Virginia rewarded by the convict scene in her own dear “Great Expectations,” or by “Treasure Island,” both of which he never tired. Then, when he was able to sit up, even to stump about a little, Virginia, having reviewed the venture in her own mind, suggested bravely one day that he learn to read, for he barely knew his letters, so that while she was at school the hours might not drag so wearily for him. A little to her surprise, the old man assented eagerly, and took his first lesson that very hour, He learned rapidly, to write as well as read, and now that his labors on the ranch were so impaired he had found it a blessing, indeed. Of Jim’s early life no one knew. He was always reticent concerning it, and no one safely tried to penetrate his reserve. His accent betokened Scotch ancestry, but his birth-place, his parents, and his name were alike a mystery. He was known to miles of country as “Jim.” That was all. Enough, he said. As he stood there in the open doorway, the light falling upon his bent figure, and bronzed, bearded face, Virginia realized with a quick pang of how much of her life Jim had been the center. She realized, too, how worn he looked, and how out of breath he was, and she sprang from her father’s lap. “Come in, Jim,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “It’s cold out here. Come, father.” They went into the big, low-storied living-room, where Hannah had lighted a fire in the great stone fire-place. The spruce logs were burning brightly, and Virginia drew her father’s big arm-chair toward the fire. “Sit here, Jim, where it’s warm, and rest.” Jim about to sit down, hesitated. “You see, sir, I come up on an errand with a message from the boys. If it’s all well and pleasin’ to you both, they’d like to beg permission to come up for a minute. You see, they’re leavin’ early in the mornin’ for the round-up, and they want to wish Miss Virginia good luck. If they was to come, I wasn’t to go back.” “Why, of course, they’re to come!” cried Virginia, while her father nodded his approval. “I’d forgotten they go so early on the range, and I wouldn’t go for the world without seeing them all. Sit down, Jim. Do! Will they be right up?” Jim sank gratefully into the big chair, placed his broad-brimmed hat on his knee, and gave a final twist to his clean bandanna.