ed," the Patriarch answered.

"Thank you," wrote Madison. "And now, surely, I must go"--he smiled at
the Patriarch.

"Come to-morrow," invited the Patriarch. "I would like to show you all
around my little place here."

"Indeed, I will," Madison scratched upon the slate, "and do you know
that somehow, since I came here to-night, I feel a sense of relief, a
sort of guarantee that everything is going to be all right with me in
the future."

The Patriarch smiled quietly, almost tolerantly.

"I know that," he wrote. "Keep your mind free of doubt, be optimistic
and cheerful as regards yourself, nourish the faith that has already
taken root and that I feel responds to mine; keep in the open air and
take plenty of exercise."

Slowly, with an apparently abstracted air, Madison read the slate,
wiped it carefully, laid it down, and then held out his hand.

"Good-night!" he nodded warmly.

The Patriarch, still with the quiet smile upon his lips, rose from his
armchair, and, keeping his clasp on Madison's hand, led Madison to the
door, opened it, and with a gesture at once courtly and affectionate
bade his guest good-night.

Madison crossed the lawn at a thoughtful pace, turned into the wagon
track, and, in the shelter of the woods now, whimsically felt his pulse;
then, lighting a cigar, tramped on with a buoyant stride.

"There's only one answer, of course," he mused. "The Patriarch's got a
brain kink on faith--it's the natural outcome of living alone for sixty
years. Outside of that and his books, he's as simple and innocent and
trusting as a babe. I suppose the thing's kind of grown on him--Hiram
said it had taken forty years--which isn't sudden unless you say it
quick. Hanged if I don't like the old sport though, and if Helena isn't
the best ever to him I'll stop her chewing gum allowance." Madison
looked up through the arched, leafless branches overhead. "Beautiful
night, isn't it?" said he pleasantly.

A little later he reached the main road and paused a moment on the
bridge, as though to sum up the thoughts and imaginings that had
occupied him on the way along.

"It's a queer world," said John Garfield Madison profoundly to the
turbid little stream that flowed beneath his feet. "I wonder why some
of us are born with brains--and some are born just plain damned fools!"

He went on again, arrived at the Congress Hotel, and, discovering
through the window that the leading citizens of Needley were still in
session