And Plet—for later so we found her name—
The very idol of the camp became;
A roguish, wilful, tomboy, sparkling girl,
As ever set a lover's brain awhirl.
Full of all tricks, yet gold without alloy,
The pride of all, and all her father's joy.
And modest, too. Her cheek with blushes burned,
That day we heard how she her pet name earned.
"You see," her father said, in merry mood,
While Plet sought quick our glances to elude,
"'Twas this way," here her face he downward drew,
"We found it well to cut your name in two.
Yes, darling, in those days that now are fled
We Pretty called you, 'Pletty' your lips said.
As Pretty were you, 'Pletty' you became,
And soon would answer to no other name.
But in good time the 'Pletty' came to 'Plet,'
The name we christened you I half forget.
This hair of brown was then all golden curls,
Ere you had grown most naughty of all girls.
Before this time, when you all care repay,
With wicked guiles that turn my old head gray."
Then Plet indulged in charming smile and pout—
That she was "papa's darling" none could doubt.
She was his all upon life's pilgrimage,
A golden letter saved from vanished page,
The promised solace of his closing years,
A hope that came from out a time of tears:
Of children born to him the first and last,
The image of her well-loved mother passed.
Such Plet—whose noble, sympathetic heart
Had others caused to live a better part;
A petticoated, pranksome, daring scamp,
The dainty hoyden of a mining camp.