"GUESS I'll hurry home," said the rough miner when some of his mates
urged him to go to the saloon, "Molly'll miss me."
Nothing seemed so pleasant at night as to see his little Molly standing
in the doorway to greet him when he came home. But to-night she was not
in her usual place.
"Where's Molly?" he quickly asked, entering the kitchen. Before his wife
could speak, he saw Molly in her mother's arms with her eyes closed.
"What is it?" he asked, in a hushed voice.
"I--don't--know," sobbed the poor mother. "She complained--of being
tired. And she wanted--me to hold her. I've held her--nearly all day.
I'm _so_ glad--you've come, Jake. Do run for the doctor."
"Yes, I will;" and without another word he hurried to the village.
"Will she live?" were his first words after the doctor entered the
house.
"I hope so," was the cheery answer. "Put her feet in warm water as soon
as possible. And here is a powder for her. I'll come over in the
morning. Think she'll be better then."
To the miner's great delight, Molly's blue eyes opened the next morning.
But if he had gone to the saloon, it might have been different.
[Illustration: SICK MOLLY.]