Summary

Portrait of Joaquin Miller Joaquin Miller The Little Gold Miners of the Sierras and Other Stories

Benny's last thought was of his wigwam that night as he slid off into the delicious sleep that only rosy-cheeked, tired boys know. He dreamed he was the chief of a powerful tribe, and that he found old Winneenis, not old any longer, but a little girl like Fanny, crying in the forest because she couldn't find her way to her people, and that he took her by the hand and led her home.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Joaquin Miller Joaquin Miller The Little Gold Miners of the Sierras and Other Stories

He shouted for help, but there was no one to hear him on the deserted farm, and the few farmers who rattled by in their wagons paid no heed to a boy's shout. Boys are always shouting, and the more hideous the noises they make the more it is like them. Sandy, who had remained asleep in the grass while Benny performed his manœuvres, thought no more of this one than he had thought of the others. He supposed it was a part of the fun—the very best part of it—as he opened one eye and saw those legs dancing in air; and Benny's yells were the things to be expected of Benny.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Joaquin Miller Joaquin Miller The Little Gold Miners of the Sierras and Other Stories

But if a jack-rabbit, or a deer, or a fox crossed Jim's path, no matter how late it was, or how the teacher had threatened him, he would drop books, lunch, slate and all, and spitting on his hands and rolling up his sleeves, would bound away after it, yelling like a wild Indian. And some days, so fascinating was the chase, Jim did not appear at the schoolhouse at all; and of course Madge and Stumps played truant too. Sometimes a week together would pass and the Keene children would not be seen at the schoolhouse.
Source: Gutenberg

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