She was yet young, and as the glowing
flames lit up her sad face they invested it with a wierd beauty.
Mary Stewart was the widow of Aleck Stewart, and but two years before they
had lived comfortably and happy, in a camp on the American River. Aleck was
a brawny miner; but the premature explosion of a blast in an exploring
tunnel had blotted out his life in an instant, leaving his family without a
protector, and in straitened circumstances. His daily wages had been their
sole support, and now that he was gone, what could they do?
With her little family Mrs. Stewart had emigrated to the camp in which we
find them, and there she earned a precarious livelihood by washing clothes
for the miners. Hers was a hard lot; but the brave little woman toiled on,
cheered by the thought that her daily labours stood between her darling
little ones and the gaunt wolf of starvation.
Jack Dawson, a strong, honest miner, was passing the cabin this Christmas
Eve, when the voice of the little girl within attracted his attention.
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