"Hush yer mouth," growled Windy. "I know what 'tis! We've left it on the hill."
The boy turned his face to the wall. The conviction was strong upon him that he was going to die, The world spun round now very, very fast indeed. Finally, half-rising in bed, he called Little Stumps to his side:
"Stumps, dear, good Little Stumps, if I die don't you never try for to smoke; for that's what's the matter with me. No, Stumps—dear little brother Stumps—don't you never try for to go the whole of the 'honest miner,' for it can't be did by a boy! We're nothing but boys, you and I, Stumps—Little Stumps."
He sank back in bed and Little Stumps and his sister cried and cried, and kissed him and kissed him.
The miners who had gathered around loved him now, every one, for daring to tell the truth and take the shame of his folly so bravely.
"I'm going to die, Windy," groaned the boy.
Windy could stand no more of it. He took Jim's hand with a cheery laugh. "Git well in half an hour," said he, "now that you've out with the truth."
And so he did. By the time his father came home he was sitting up; and he ate breakfast the next morning as if nothing had happened. But he never tried to smoke any more as long as he lived. And he never lied, and he never swore any more.
Oh, no! this Jim that I have been telling you of is "Moral Jim," of the Sierras. The mine? Oh, I almost forgot. Well, that blue dirt was the old bed of the stream, and it was ten times richer than where the miners were all at work below. Struck it! I should say so! Ask any of the old Sierras miners about "The Children's Claim," if you want to hear just how rich they struck it.
JOAQUIN MILLER.