The Measure of A Man

Gingerbread Jenkins' bleared eyes were all at once flushed. "Your pop's business, my dear," he answered, softly, driven to the disclosure at last, "is with God."

"Pop's dead!" the girl gasped.

Gingerbread's eyes overflowed. Off came his old cloth cap. He nodded. "Pop's dead," said he.

"Pop's dead!" Pattie repeated, her gray eyes round with wonder, which no pain had yet disturbed. "Pop's dead!" She brooded upon this new thing; and presently, with a start, her hands fallen upon her agitated bosom, she turned to the shack, wherein, through the open door, she seemed to discover her loneliness, but not yet to be troubled by it. She looked, then, without concern, to the high, darkening sky, and to the flaring sunset clouds, above the black pines, whence her wistful glance fell to the besotted settlement, huddled in the gathering shadows beyond the confines of her familiar place. "He's dead!" she whispered. "Pop's dead!"

"Hush!" Gingerbread Jenkins besought her; "