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Once upon a time there was a woodcutter and his wife who had seven children, all boys. The eldest was but ten years old, and the youngest only seven. People wondered that the woodcutter had so many children so near in age, but the fact was, that several of them were twins. He and his wife were very poor, and their seven children were a great burden to them, as not one of them was yet able to earn his livelihood. What troubled them still more was, that the youngest was very delicate, and seldom spoke, which they considered a proof of stupidity rather than of good sense. He was very diminutive, and, when first born, scarcely bigger than one's thumb, and so they called him Little Thumbling. “No—no, sir,” stammered Bob, helplessly. “He wasn’t there—he’s in Las Cruces—” There! Any one could see by that how horrid she was—asking if he wanted anything in particular!.

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Mrs. Taylor had prepared what seemed to Bob an especially fine supper, considering that they were miles away from civilization. During a lull in the conversation he mentioned it. She was much pleased. “Here is my monthly report and ‘Goodwill of Luckton’ has come,” exclaimed Johnny. Just before sundown next day they came to an obstacle which at first sight rather daunted them. As they rounded a bend, the most surprising bit of scenery they had so far encountered flashed before their eyes. The canyon seemed to stop, to have no outlet. It was as if they had come into an amphitheater from which there was no escape. Even the way they had come in was not visible. The point of rocks which had made the bend in the river merged into the sides of the canyon in such a way as to make it seem that there was no opening at all. “A bunch of armed Mexicans! They had camped for supper. I figgered that they were coming on up here to-night, so I beat it straight for you. Bet Dad’s got a search party out huntin’ me right now!”.