A moment after the hail was heard from the roof, the muffled¹ noise which accompanied it ceased. The stranger groping about in the snowy gloom had stepped off the roof into the huge drift outside the Heavenly Bower², and a minute later, lifted the latch³ of the door and pushed in among the astonished miners. They saw the figure of a sturdy man holding something in his arms, so wrapped round with blankets and coverings that no one could tell its nature. He stamped the snow from his boots, shook himself like a shaggy dog, then walked heavily to the chair which Budge⁴ Isham placed near the fire for him, and almost fell into it.  
“Good evening, friends,” he said in a grave voice; “It was no fault of mine that I tried at first to enter by the roof.”
 
“When I built the Heavenly Bower,” replied Landlord Ortigies; “I meant to place a door up there, but there wasn’t anybody in New Constantinople with enough sense to know how to do it. I ’spose you was looking fur it, stranger.”
 
18
“No,” was the reply, “I wasn’t looking for anything; I was just walking, walking through the storm, not knowing or caring where I went. I can’t say how far I came, but it must have been a number of miles. I was still plodding⁵ on, when I set my foot on vacancy⁶ and down I went.”
 
“Gracious! you fell nearly a hundred feet,” said Parson Brush; “it was a wonderful providence⁷ that saved you from being dashed to death.”
 
“The snow on the roof must be five or six feet deep,” replied the stranger; “for it received me as if it were a feather bed. I saw a glow from the top of your chimney against the rocks and knew I was on the roof of a house. I hardly felt jarred and groped my way off into a lot more snow and here I am.”
 
The astonishment⁸ of the listeners did not make them forget the laws of hospitality. Budge Isham looked significantly at the landlord, but he had already drawn⁹ a glass of spirits and was coming from behind the bar with it.
 
“Stranger, swallow this; you look cold; you’re welcome to the Heavenly Bower, whether you come through the roof or down the chimbley.”
 
“Thank you; I’ll take the whiskey in a minute.”
 
And then feeling that he owed those who made him so welcome some explanation of his coming among them, the stranger said:
 
19
“My friends, my name is Maurice Dawson. About two months ago, I left Independence, Missouri, with an emigrant¹⁰ train for the Pacific coast. The elements, disease and the Indians made such inroads upon us that after a time only half a dozen families remained. As if that wasn’t enough, the few survivors¹¹ quarreled over the course to follow, most of them aiming for a pass through the mountains into Southern California, while I, the greatest fool of them all, set out to find Dead Man’s Gulch¹², of which I had heard from a party of trappers. My canvas covered wagon¹³, with a single span of horses, contained all my worldly goods, and my companions were my wife and little girl Nellie, only three years old. Everything might have gone well but for this blizzard¹⁴, which jumbled¹⁵ up the points of the compass and made traveling so difficult that after a time it became impossible.”
 
All were listening with the closest interest, and every heart was touched by the emotion of the man, which he could not control for several minutes. No one interrupted, and, feeling that his story was not quite completed, he added:
 
“I fired my gun in the hope of attracting attention, but fortunately for others I was the only one abroad. By and by the horses stopped. They could draw the wagon no further. They stood panting and exhausted¹⁶ and soon lay down in the snow. I turned to speak to 20 my wife, when I found she had been dead for some minutes, the cold carrying her off as quietly as if she were dropping asleep. Before she passed away, she wrapped nearly all her clothing about Nellie, who was cuddling beside her, so that really the mother, like the noble woman she was, gave her life for the little one. It was because Nellie was alive, that I jumped out of the wagon and began floundering through the snow. I ploughed blindly forward until providence guided me to you.”
 
While uttering the last words, Maurice Dawson was tenderly unwrapping the bundle in his arms. There were many folds to draw away, but at last he reached the treasure within, which was his Nellie, still sound asleep.
 
If the miners were startled by the resounding¹⁷ thump¹⁸ on the roof, they were now almost struck dumb with amazement¹⁹. They sat with open mouths, staring eyes and for a minute no one spoke²⁰ or stirred.
 
“God bless you, my Nellie,” murmured the father, bending his head and touching²¹ his lips to the cool forehead; “I had no hope of this when I left your dead mother and started on my tramp through the snow.”
 
A general sigh went up from the group of awed²² miners. Wade²³ Ruggles, who had been leaning on the bar, with his gaze fixed²⁴ on that of the handsome stranger, was the first to recover from the spell which 21 held them all. Tiptoeing across the room, he paused in front of the father and his child and stared, wondering and speechless. Then one by one the others did the same, until the whole company were grouped around the man and child, each afraid to whisper, as if doing so would dissolve the heavenly vision.
 
When the wrappings had been laid aside, and the little one was placed upright, she stared bewildered into the shaggy faces around her. Her big blue eyes were open to their widest extent, the mass of golden curls rippled²⁵ about her shoulders and the fairy-like feet were inclosed in thick, warm shoes and stockings. The dress of a dull brown color and thick texture²⁶, fitted her tiny frame perfectly²⁷ and she formed a most winsome²⁸ picture of infantile beauty.
 
For fully²⁹ five minutes all stared in silence at the marvelous picture. As before, Wade Ruggles was the first to come to himself, but when he spoke, it was in an awed, hesitating whisper:
 
“Is she really alive?”
 
The sorrowful face of the father lit up with a faint smile as he answered:
 
“Yes; thank heaven; alive and well.”
 
“May I touch her?” timidly asked Ike Hoe, extending his finger which faintly brushed the rosy³⁰ cheek, and was instantly snatched away as if he felt he had done a sacrilegious thing.
 
22
“I say,” ventured Ruggles gathering³¹ courage, “I wonder now if she would let me take her in my arms for a minute or so; I won’t drop her; but that’s too much to ask, howsumever.”
 
While he stood hopeful, hesitating and doubtful, Nellie with a half frightened smile, dived her head under the arm of her father, as if to get away from the embarrassing situation. He gently fondled the golden hair and drew her face into view again.
 
“There, little one, there’s nothing to be frightened at; these people are all your friends and will do anything they can to please you.”
 
“You’re right!” exclaimed Landlord Ortigies, with a shake of his head; “we’ll do anything in the world for you; if you say the word, I’ll stand on my head or stand any one else here the same way.”
 
And he showed an alarming inclination³² to invert³³ himself for the amusement of the child, but she did not seem to grasp the meaning of the offer. She fixed her eyes upon Ruggles, who made bold by what seemed a favorable sign, took a step forward and invitingly³⁴ extended his hands. She debated for a moment, whether to meet the proffer³⁵ and then with the impulsiveness³⁶ of infancy³⁷ leaned toward him. With a thrill of pleasure the grizzled miner carefully placed his huge arms underneath³⁸ hers, and lifted her as if she were a doll from 23 her father’s knee. As he did so, every one saw the big tears trickling³⁹ down his cheeks.
 
“I can’t help it, boys,” he said apologetically; “the last child I held in these arms was my own Jennie, and she was dead.”
 
With infinite affection, he pressed his bearded lips against the chubby⁴⁰ cheek, while she, relieved of all fear, flung her dimpled arms about his neck and kissed him in return. With one hand, she lifted the flapping hat from his head and with the other smoothed away the luxuriant hair from his forehead.
 
“I like you ever so much, but you are crying,” she said sympathetically; “what makes you do that? Haven’t you got a little girl like me?”
 
“No, my precious child; I once had just such a sweet tot as you, but the good Lord took her from me, and I love you just as I loved her.”
 
“And that’s what we all are going to do,” remarked Ike Hoe, with a sniff⁴¹ as he drew his sleeve across his eyes; “this beats anything in the history of New Constantinople, by seven hundred and eighty-four thousand majority.”
 
“Come, Wade, you must be fair with us,” said the landlord, reaching out his arms; “we all claim an equal share in her.”
 
The miner felt the truth of this, and without a word relinquished⁴² the treasure. Drawing his handkerchief, he 24 wiped his eyes clear of their mist and jealously followed the surrendered one as she was fondled in turn by the others. First one and then another, until she had completed the round. All had something pleasant to say to her and she replied in her sweet innocent way, causing laughter and winning her path straight to the hearts of the hardy⁴³ fellows, to whom such endearments⁴⁴ had been unknown for years, but whose better natures were stirred by the presence of the child, as if she were in reality an angel sent from heaven.
 
Felix Brush had purposely left his turn for the last, hoping thereby⁴⁵ to retain her longer than his friends. After chatting with her for a moment and repeating some rigmarole that set her laughing, followed by the request for him to say it again, he stood her on the bar. Then he danced in front of her, swung his arms like a jumping-jack, and told some outlandish fairy story from the stock that no one had ever suspected he possessed⁴⁶.
 
“Can you stand on your head?” asked Nellie, rippling⁴⁷ over with fun.
 
“Certainly,” he replied, as without a moment’s hesitation⁴⁸, he inverted⁴⁹ himself and cracked his heels together, though the attitude was such an unfamiliar⁵⁰ one that he careened and went over on his back with a thump that made the room tremble. Nellie clapped her 25 chubby hands with delight and before Brush could repeat the performance, she called:
 
“Catch me; I’m going to jump.”
 
“All right; I’m ready for you.”
 
She recoiled⁵¹ a step to gather momentum⁵² and Landlord Ortigies, terrified at the fear that she might step off backward, made a dive round the end of the bar, catching⁵³ his foot in an obstruction⁵⁴ and falling with a crash that drew all attention to him.
 
“I’m so sorry; be you hurt?” asked Nellie, turning her head and surveying him, as his face came up to view like the full moon rising above the horizon.
 
“Not a bit; I done that on purpose to make you laugh; I always do that to please good little girls like you.”
 
“Bime by I’ll let you fall all the time, but just see me jump.”
 
Felix Brush was still standing⁵⁵, with arms outstretched, and, without a second’s hesitation the child leaped off into space. She showed no fright, for there was no cause for it, since she was caught fairly and securely. Inasmuch as she had been fondled by every one, and the parson had had her longer than anyone else, he set her down on the floor and she began running here and there, displaying a childish curiosity to understand everything in sight. Going to the half-opened door, 26 communicating with the darkened apartment at the rear, she peeped timidly in.
 
“Who lives in dere?” she asked, turning around and addressing the whole group who were laughingly watching her.
 
“That’s where I live,” replied Ortigies.
 
“Do you live all alone?”
 
“Yes, my child.”
 
“Haven’t you got any little girl like me?”
 
“No; I’d give all I have in the world if I had.”
 
“Wouldn’t you like to have me for your little girl?”
 
“Indeed I would; will you be my little girl?”
 
The baby face became thoughtful. She thrust one finger in the corner of her mouth and looked down at the floor.
 
“What would papa do and those other folks? I will be the little girl for all of you.”
 
This struck the party as the brightest and wittiest⁵⁶ expression ever made by a mortal. They laughed, clapped their hands and striking each other on the shoulder wanted to know whether anything of the like had ever before been heard. Certainly not. Without paying any heed⁵⁷ to them, Nellie was peering into the room again.
 
“It’s dark and cold,” she said in an awed voice, turning her face around, the better to communicate the information; “but I ain’t afraid.”
 
 
Before she could fairly enter the place, her father, who was affectionately watching her, said:
 
“I guess you would better not go in there, Nellie; it’s growing late and is time you prepared for bed.”
 
“I’ll fix a place for her,” said Ortigies; “we ain’t much on style here, but I can manage to make her comfortable.”
 
“But will it not discommode⁵⁸ you?”
 
“That little gal⁵⁹ can’t discommode any one in New Constantinople; if she would prefer to have me go out and sleep in the snow, I’ll be glad to do it.”
 
“I’ve just the place for her,” interposed Wade Ruggles; “couldn’t be better if I had taken a week to get it ready.”
 
“Can’t begin with my quarters,” Felix Brush hastened to say, and there would have been a general wrangle⁶⁰ for the privilege of accommodating the little one, had not her father, seeing how matters were going, smilingly raised his hand in protest.
 
“I cannot tell you, my friends, how much I thank you all for your kindness. Ah, if my poor wife could have held out until she reached here, but that was not to be. I shall be glad to stay with Mr. Ortigies to-night, and with your permission shall remain for a few days in your settlement. I have lost everything I owned in the world, and will need some time to decide what is best to do. Our stay in New Constantinople will give all a  better chance to get acquainted with Nellie. I’ll surrender her to you until you get tired of her.”
 
“Get tired of her!” repeated Vose Adams, voicing the sentiments of all; “we’re not the kind of galoots to git tired of an angel.”
 
The father expressed his thanks with such winsome grace, that every man instinctively⁶¹ felt that he was a born gentleman. There was not a miner in the room who did not sympathize with him in his affliction, and yet they envied him the possession of the child, whose innocence⁶² and beauty impressed them as more wonderful than they had ever looked upon before. When Felix Brush whispered to Budge Isham that arrangements must be made in some way to keep the father with them, for the sake of having the child, his friend nodded his head, and said he had made up his mind to the same effect from the moment the parent referred to the matter. And the sentiments of these two were those of the rest.
 
“Come, Nellie, let me prepare you for bed; it’s a long time since you have had that privilege.”
 
The little one obediently walked to her father and turned her back to him that he might better remove her clothing.
 
“I suppose you have plenty of covering for her?” remarked the parent inquiringly to the landlord.
 
“There’s all she can need.”
 
Lifting her on his knee, the father began removing the shoes and stockings, the little one giving what aid she could, when it came to the garments. One of the last acts of the affectionate mother had been to place upon her child the gown she was accustomed to wear while asleep. When at last she was ready, she looked up to her father and asked in a half whisper:
 
“Where’s mamma?”
 
“She will not be with us to-night.”
 
“Then she will come in the morning?”
 
“Wait until then, my child; don’t say anything more about mamma now.”
 
She was satisfied, and signified that she was ready to have her father carry her to her bed. Then she exclaimed with a laugh:
 
“Ain’t that funny?”
 
“What’s that?”
 
“I like to fordot to say my prayers.”
 
And slipping from her father’s knee, she knelt on the floor, with her hands covering her face which, as it pressed his knee, was hidden by the mass of golden ringlets clustering and falling about it. Not a man stirred or spoke. All were so silent that the sifting⁶³ of the snow against the logs, the moaning of the gale⁶⁴ and the soft rustle⁶⁵ of the embers that broke apart on the hearth⁶⁶ were audible. But all these were as the “voice 30 of silence” itself, so that when the child began her prayer in a low voice, every syllable⁶⁷ was heard.
 
“Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
God bless papa, mamma and make Nellie a good girl; bless––”
 
Wheeling short round at the silent, awed group, she looked at the landlord and asked:
 
“What is your name?”
 
“Or-ti-gies,” he replied, pronouncing it carefully.
 
She made rather sorry work at first, but there could be no doubt that the One to whom she was addressing the petition understood her wishes. When she had satisfied herself and included the landlord in her prayer, she ceased again, and this time looked up at her father whose hand was resting on her head.
 
“I must pray for all of them, musn’t I?”
 
“Certainly, my child.”
 
“But I don’t know dere names.”
 
“They will all tell them.”
 
No act of worship in church or grand cathedral was more solemn and reverential than that of the men, as each in turn stepped softly forward with bowed head, and repeated his name to the tiny petitioner⁶⁸, who immediately included it with those for whom she had already prayed and it was wafted⁶⁹ upward through space to Him who delights to hear and answer such petitions.
 
She did not forget one. To make sure, she looked up while still on her knees and asked:
 
“Did I fordot any of you?”
 
“No,” replied the parent; “you have not missed any. That’s a good girl.”
 
“And I know they will all be good, for I asked God to make ’em so.”
 
The father now rose to his feet with her in his arms, and she called a general good night, flinging a kiss to all. Landlord Ortigies had lit an extra lamp and with it in hand, he led the way to the rear room, where as he stated, comfortable quarters were provided for the little one. Since the Heavenly Bower was the only place in the mining settlement where the wanderer, who occasionally made his way into that remote part of the world, could expect to find sleeping accommodations, Ortigies was always prepared for visitors. Thus he was able to furnish the father with a couch so placed that he virtually shared the bed with his child.
 
Ten minutes later, when he stole back into the room with the landlord to see whether everything was right with his child, she was found sunk in the sweet, dreamless slumber⁷⁰ of infancy. The picture was so winsome as she lay with her cheek resting upon the rough pillow, that Ortigies stepped softly to the door and beckoned⁷¹ to his friends. Everyone stole forward, and stood looking 32 down for several minutes upon the sleeper⁷², and, as he did so, new resolves sprang into his heart. Already it may be said they were better men because of the blessed messenger that had come among them.