"We can't take him down," said the miner, at last. "He ought to have a woman's care."
Keno was startled; his worry suddenly engulfed him.
"What kin we do?" he asked, in helplessness.
"Miss Doc's a decent woman," answered Jim, in despair. "She might know what to do."
"You couldn't bring yourself to that?" asked Keno, thoroughly amazed.
"I could bring myself to anything," said Jim, "if only my little boy could be well and happy."
"Then you ain't agoin' to take him down to the tree?"
"How can I?" answered Jim. "He's awful sick. He needs something more than I can give. He needs—a mother. I didn't know how sick he was gettin'. He won't look up. He couldn't see the tree. He can't be like the most of little kids, for he don't even seem to know it's Christmas."
"Aw, poor little feller!" said Keno. "Jim, what we goin' to do?"
"You go down and ask Miss Doc if I can fetch him there," instructed Jim. "I think she likes him, or she wouldn't have made his little clothes. She's a decent woman, and I know she's got a heart. Go on the run! I'm sorry I didn't give in before."