"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 wittiest 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 heed 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."
"That little gal 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 wrangle 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 instinctively 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 innocence 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.