Jim’s hope collapsed in his bosom.  The taking of the child he could gladly have forgiven.  Any excuse would have satisfied his anger—­anything was bearable, save to know that he had come on a false belief.

“Miss Doc,” he said, “I only want the little kid.  Don’t say he ain’t here.”

“Tellin’ me I’d steal!” she said, in her indignation.  “You shiftless, good-for-nothin’—­” But she left her string of epithets incompleted, 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 baby’s new confidence and hope.  “Did you think old brother Jim was lost?  Did you want to go home and get some bread and milk?”

“He ain’t a bit hungry.  He didn’t want nuthin’ to eat,” said Miss Doc, in self-defence.  “And you ain’t no more fit to have that there child than a—­”

“Goin’ to have him all the same,” old Jim interrupted, starting for the door.  “You stole him—­that’s what you did!”

“I didn’t do no sech thing,” said the housewife.  “I jest nachelly borrowed him—­jest for over night.  And now you’ve got him, I hope you’re satisfied.  And you kin jest clear out o’ my house, do you hear?  And I can’t scrub and sweep too soon where your lazy, dirty old boots has been on the floor!”

“Wal,” drawled Jim, “I can’t throw away these boots any too soon, neither.  I wouldn’t wear a pair of boots which had stepped on any floor of yours.”

He therefore left the house at once, even as the lady began her violent sweeping.  Interrupting Keno’s mad chortles of joy at sight of little Skeezucks, Jim gave him the tiny man for a moment’s keeping, and, taking off his boots, threw them down before Miss Dennihan’s gate in extravagant pride.