large enough, it must be confessed, to cover the sins of the gamblers
themselves, but it was not proven that HE had ever organized any form
of relief. But it was true that local history somehow accepted him as
an exponent of mining Christianity, without the least reference to the
opinions of the Christian miners themselves.
The Rev. Mr. Wynn's liberal habits and opinions were not, however,
shared by his only daughter, a motherless young lady of eighteen.
Nellie Wynn was in the eye of Excelsior an unapproachable divinity,
as inaccessible and cold as her father was impulsive and familiar. An
atmosphere of chaste and proud virginity made itself felt even in
the starched integrity of her spotless skirts, in her neatly gloved
finger-tips, in her clear amber eyes, in her imperious red lips, in her
sensitive nostrils. Need it be said that the youth and middle age of
Excelsior were madly, because apparently hopelessly, in love with her?
For the rest, she had been expensively educated, was profoundly ignorant
in two languages, with a trained misunderstanding of music and painting,
and a natural and faultless taste in dress.
The Rev. Mr. Wynn was engaged in a characteristic hearty parting with
one of his latest converts, upon his own doorstep, with admirable
al fresco effect. He had just clapped him on the shoulder. "Good-by,
good-by, Charley, my boy, and keep in the right path; not up, or down,
or round the gulch, you know--ha, ha!--but straight across lots to
the shining gate." He had raised his voice under the stimulus of a few
admiring spectators, and backed his convert playfully against the wall.
"You see! we're goin' in to win, you bet. Good-by! I'd ask you to step
in and have a chat, but I've got my work to do, and so have you. The
gospel mustn't keep us from that, must it, Charley? Ha, ha!"
The convert (who elsewhere was a profane expressman, and had become
quite imbecile under Mr. Wynn's active heartiness and brotherly
horse-play before spectators) managed, however, to feebly stammer with a
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