all on account of an interruption in the shape of Tintoretto.

Keno had made up his mind that everything was going wrong, and he had
loosed the pup.

Bounding in at the door, that enthusiastic bit of awkwardness and good
intentions jumped on the front of Miss Doc's dress, gave a lick at her
hand, scooted back to his master, and wagged himself against the
tables, chairs, and walls with clumsy dexterity. Sniffing and bumping
his nose on the carpet, he pranced through the door to the kitchen.

Almost immediately Jim heard the sound of something being bowled over
on the floor--something being licked--something vainly striving with
the over-affectionate pup, and then there came a coo of joy.

"There he is!" cried Jim, and before Miss Doc could lift so much as
hand or voice to restrain him, he had followed Tintoretto and fallen on
his knees by the side of his lost little foundling, who was helplessly
straddled by the pup, and who, for the first time, dropped his doll as
he held out his tiny arms to be taken.

"My little boy!" said the miner--"my little boy!" and taking both doll
and little man in his arms he held them in passionate tenderness
against his heart.

"How da'st you come in my kitchen with your dirty boots?" demanded Miss
Dennihan, in all her unabashed pugnacity.

"It's all right, little Skeezucks," said Jim to the timid little
pilgrim, who was clinging to his collar with all the strength of a