IN DAKOTA. 105 
. I wonderif the generous-hearted Squire ever knew 
what a great burden that little speech lifted off from 
Jim Hardy’s heart, and what a flood of sunlight it 
caused to faM upon his future. Jim tried to tell him 
but broke down in the attempt, and so left him with 
a few broken words of thanks. | 
The balance of the business was easily arranged. 
for Jim’s neighbors all had confidence in him, and 
seemed glad to take what little risk there was in giv- 
ing him a lift into better prospects. And Jim him- 
self seemed another man. ‘The sad, discouraged 
expression left his face, and a brightness that was all 
the time ready to break into a smile came in its stead, 
and he seemed, in a single day, to have grown ten 
_ years younger. 
It was decided that his family should remain where 
they were for the present. I can live in a dug-out 
or any way,” said Jim, until | can make things com- 
fortable for them out there, and then I can send for ~ 
them.” 
. Col. Worthington, on whose farm Jim had lived 
for eight years, said they could have the little house 
and two or three acres surrounding it free of rent as 
long as they wanted it, and he would also see that 
they had plenty to live on while they stayed. Jim 
protested at first that this seemed too much like 
making paupers of them, and he could not permit 
that, but the Colonel would not listen to such talk. 
“See here, Jim,” he said, * you’ve worked for me 
most of the time for eight years now, and there never 
