Those two boys—Clifford and Freddie—are all that I have left in this world to live for. Freddie is seven years old, bright, plump, well developed and very affectionate. It is said of him that he learns very quickly and remembers well, and the dear Fathers at the Brothers School at South Park, who have taken care of him, fed him and clothed him for months without a dollar of Swiftwater’s money, say that he will some day make a name in the world.
And now, I am going to take you, my reader, into my confidence and tell you something that is sacred. These boys, I feel, are my own flesh and blood—my own boys.
If my story will throw some new light on the hardships of women who are forced to go to the North in search of a livelihood or shall be read with interest by all my old friends in Alaska, I shall rest content. I have a mission to perform—the care and education of my two boys—Clifford and Freddie.
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.