The sound of his name thus spoken may have awakened a sort of dignity in the waif.
“I live with the Rose of Texas,” he said, gravely. “Me an’ Sam both did, till Sam was plugged by a greaser unbeknowns, and—”
Miss Schofield interrupted rather hastily.
“Never mind the next line, Philip. I remember it. Just a moment—”
She had taken out her note-book and was puzzling over the proper entry. “Philip Nutt, alias Peanut, Care of the Rose of Texas, former housekeeper for Blazer Sam.” It seemed a doubtful combination to intrust to the mail service. Then her face lighted with a sudden resolution.
“Show me just where you live, Philip.”
The boy turned and pointed up the mountain.
“That big spruce grows by the house. It’s on the rocks behind it.”
“I see, Philip. I can find it easily. I must be going now, for the stage is waiting, but I shall stop a day or two at the mines below here. I will come to-morrow and learn just how to send the picture. Good-by till then, Philip.”
She took his thin brown hand in her own soft palm. The mother instinct welled up strong. She hungered to gather him to her breast, but he was already drawing back rather fearfully. A step away she turned to wave another good-by.