“Come in!” he called.  “Come in, and don’t waste all that noise.”

The pup awoke and let out a bark.

In response to the miner’s invitation the caller opened the door and entered.  Jim and Keno had their heads thrust out of their bunks, but the two popped in abruptly at the sight of a tall female figure.  She was homely, a little sharp as to features, and a little near together and piercing as to eyes.  Her teeth were prominent, her mouth unquestionably generous in dimensions, and a mole grew conspicuously upon her chin.  Nevertheless, she looked, as Jim had once confessed, “remarkly human.”  On her head she wore a sun-bonnet.  Her black alpaca dress was as styleless and as shiny as a stovepipe.  It was short, moreover, and therefore permitted a view of a large, flat pair of shoes on which polish for the stovepipe aforesaid had been lavishly coated.

It was Miss Doc Dennihan.  Having duly heard of the advent of a quaint little boy, found in the brush by the miner, she had come thus early in the morning to gratify a certain hunger that her nature felt for the sight of a child.  But always one of the good woman’s prides had been concealment of her feelings, desires, and appetites.  She had formed a habit, likewise, of hiding not a few of her intentions.  Instead of inquiring now for what she sought, she glanced swiftly about the interior of the cabin and said: 

“Ain’t you lazy-joints got up yet in this here cabin?”

“Been up and hoisted the sun and went back to bed,” drawled Jim, while Keno drew far back in his berth and fortified himself behind his blankets.  “Glad to see you, but sorry you’ve got to be goin’ again so soon.”

“I ’ain’t got to be goin’,” corrected the visitor, with decision.  “I jest thought I’d call in and see if your clothin’ and kitchen truck was needin’ a woman’s hand.  Breakfast over to our house is finished and John has went to work, and everything has bin did up complete, so ‘tain’t as if I was takin’ the time away from John; and this here place is disgraceful dirty, as I could see with nuthin’ but a store eye.  Is these here over-halls your’n?”

“When I’m in ’em I reckon they are,” drawled Jim, in some disquietude of mind.  “But don’t you touch ’em!  Them pants is heirlooms.  Wouldn’t have anybody fool with them for a million dollars.”

“They don’t look worth no such a figger,” said Miss Dennihan, as she held them up and scanned them with a critical eye.  “They’re wantin’ a patch in the knee.  It’s lucky fer you I toted my bag.  I kin always match overhalls, new or faded.”

Keno slyly ventured to put forth his head, but instantly drew it back again.