had died when I was in the hospital at San Andreas."

Poor Pete! he had indeed touched bottom. But he had a heart and a
conscience still, and my own heart warmed toward my poor backslidden
brother.

"You are not a lost man yet. You are worth a thousand dead men. You can
get out of this, and you must. You must act the part of a brave man, and
not be any longer a coward. Bad luck and lack of success are a disgrace
to no man. There is where you went wrong. It was cowardly to give up and
not write to your family, and then take to whisky."

"I know all that, Elder. There is no better little woman on earth than
my wife"--Pete choked up again.

"You write to her this very night, and go back to her and your children
just as soon as you can get the money to pay your way. Act the man, and
all will come right yet. I have writing materials here in my satchel
--pen, ink, paper, envelopes, stamps, every thing; I am an editor, and go
fixed up for writing."

The letter was written, I acting as Pete's amanuensis, he pleading that
he was a poor scribe at best and that his nerves were too unsteady for
such work. Taking my advice, he made a clean breast of the whole matter,
throwing himself on the forgiveness of the wife whom he had so
shamefully neglected, and promising by the help of God to make all the
amends possible in time to come. The letter was duly directed, sealed,
and stamped; and Pete looked as if a great weight had been lifted from
his soul, He had made me a fire in the little stove, saying it was
better than the barroom; in which opinion I was fully agreed.