Out of the pocket-book he took a delicately made leather case, holding it in his hand a moment, and glancing uncertainly at the figure in the bed.
"What ha' you got there ?" growled McEwen.
Anderson crossed the room.

His own face had lost its colour.

As he reached his father, he touched a spring, and held out his hand with the case lying open within it.
It contained a miniature--of a young woman in the midst of a group of children.
"Do you remember that photograph that was done of them--in a tent--when you took us all into Winnipeg for the first agricultural show ?" he said hoarsely.

"I had a copy--that wasn't burnt.

At Montreal, there was a French artist one year, that did these things.