When the word spread 'round that Jim and the quaint little foundling
were once more united, the story of the episode at Miss Doc's home
necessarily followed to make the tale complete. Immensely relieved and
grateful, to know that no dire calamity had befallen the camp's first
and only child, the rough men nevertheless lost no time in conceiving
the outcome to be fairly amusing.

"You kin bet that Doc was awake all the time, and listenin', as long as
Jim was there," said Bone, "but six yoke of oxen couldn't 'a' dragged
his two eyes open, or him out of bed, to mingle in the ceremonies."

To prevent a recurrence of similar descents upon his household, Jim
arranged his plans in such a manner that the timid little Skeezucks
should never again be left alone. Indeed, the gray old miner hardly
ever permitted the little chap to be out of his sight. Hour by hour,
day by day, he remained at his cabin, playing with the child, telling
him stories, asking him questions, making him promises of all the
wonderful toys and playthings he would manufacture soon.

Once in a while the little fellow spoke. That utterance came with
difficulty to his lips was obvious. He must always have been a silent,
backward little fellow, and sad, as children rarely become at an age so
tender. Of who or what he was he gave no clew. He seemed to have no
real name, to remember no parents, to feel no confidence in anything
save "Bruvver Jim" and Tintoretto.

In the course of a week a number of names had been suggested for the
tiny bit of a stranger, but none could suit the taste of Jim. He
waited still for a truant inspiration, and meanwhile "Skeezucks" came