Banjo responded with a friendly wag and crowded closer to rub his head against Jimmy. For the twentieth time that day the old man's hand stole down into his empty pocket on a fruitless errand. "Nary a crumb," he muttered, "and not a cent left to get one. Banjo, I'd give both ears for a good chaw right now. I'm not grudging it, but I sure would 'a' held back a dime or two if I hadn't thought there was another plug in the shack." Banjo bristled up and growled. "Hush, you beast!" scolded Jimmy. "You ought to be so full of peace and good-will this here Christmas eve that there wouldn't be room for a single growl in your ugly old hide. _I'd_ be if I could lay teeth on the chaw I'm hankering for. What's the matter with you anyhow?" With his hand on the dog's head to quiet him, he peered down the dim road. A boy on a shaggy Indian pony was loping towards him. "Is this Welsh's ranch?" he called. "Then I've got a telegram for somebody. It's addressed mighty queer--just says 'Jimmy, care of Mrs. Clara Welsh.'" "Well, I'm a--_greaser_!" was all that Jimmy could ejaculate as he reached for the yellow envelope. He turned it over with growing curiosity. "First telegram I ever got in my life, and me sixty odd years," he muttered. "There's a dollar charges for delivering it out so far," said the boy. Jimmy's hand went down into his pocket again. "I'll have to go to the house for it," he said. "You wait." Then he waited himself. Batty Carson was strolling down the road. It would be easier to apply to him for the loan than to Mrs. Welsh. "Has the old uncle died and left you a fortune?" laughed Batty, as he handed over the dollar. "Blamed if I can make out," answered Jimmy, holding the scrap of paper at arms length and squinting at it. "I ain't got my specs. Here! you read it." Batty, taking the telegram, read in his hoarse whisper: "Dane arrived safely God bless you Matthew twentyfive forty. Harriet Ward." Then he looked up for an explanation. Jimmy was staring at him open-mouthed. "Well, if that ain't the blamedest message ever was," he exclaimed. "I don't know any sucker named Matthew. Is the woman plumb crazy?" Batty looked up from the second reading, enlightened. "No, I take it she wanted to send you some sort of a Christmas greeting, but probably she's as poor as she is pious and had to count her words. Come on, we'll look up Matthew twenty-five and forty. I guess I haven't forgotten how to do such stunts, even if it has been such a precious while since the last one." He led the way to his tent, and while Jimmy lighted the lamp he began burrowing through his trunk. Down at the very bottom he found it, the Book he was looking for, then the chapter and the verse. When he cleared his throat and read the entire telegram it sounded strangely impressive in his hoarse whisper: