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Selected Stories of Bret Harte by Bret Harte
page 45 of 413 (10%)
and so I don't feel like as I was the only living being about the ranch.
And Jim here," said Miggles, with her old laugh again, and coming out
quite into the firelight, "Jim--why, boys, you would admire to see how
much he knows for a man like him. Sometimes I bring him flowers, and he
looks at 'em just as natural as if he knew 'em; and times, when we're
sitting alone, I read him those things on the wall. Why, Lord!" said
Miggles, with her frank laugh, "I've read him that whole side of the
house this winter. There never was such a man for reading as Jim."

"Why," asked the Judge, "do you not marry this man to whom you have
devoted your youthful life?"

"Well, you see," said Miggles, "it would be playing it rather low down
on Jim, to take advantage of his being so helpless. And then, too, if we
were man and wife, now, we'd both know that I was bound to do what I do
now of my own accord."

"But you are young yet and attractive--"

"It's getting late," said Miggles, gravely, "and you'd better all turn
in. Good night, boys"; and, throwing the blanket over her head, Miggles
laid herself down beside Jim's chair, her head pillowed on the low stool
that held his feet, and spoke no more. The fire slowly faded from the
hearth; we each sought our blankets in silence; and presently there was
no sound in the long room but the pattering of the rain upon the roof
and the heavy breathing of the sleepers.

It was nearly morning when I awoke from a troubled dream. The storm had
passed, the stars were shining, and through the shutterless window the
full moon, lifting itself over the solemn pines without, looked into
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