g to return for her in a few days when she
was rested, and hastened back to Ashland to his work; for his soul was
happy now and at ease, and he felt he must get to work at once. Rogers
would need him. Poor Rogers! Had he found his daughter yet? Poor, silly
child-prodigal!

But when Gardley reached Ashland he found among his mail awaiting him a
telegram. His uncle was dead, and the fortune which he had been brought
up to believe was his, and which he had idly tossed away in a moment of
recklessness, had been restored to him by the uncle's last will, made
since Gardley's recent visit home. The fortune was his again!

Gardley sat in his office on the Rogers ranch and stared hard at the
adobe wall opposite his desk. That fortune would be great! He could do
such wonderful things for Margaret now. They could work out their dreams
together for the people they loved. He could see the shadows of those
dreams--a beautiful home for Margaret out on the trail she loved, where
wildness and beauty and the mountain she called hers were not far away;
horses in plenty and a luxurious car when they wanted to take a trip;
journeys East as often as they wished; some of the ideal appliances for
the school that Margaret loved; a church for the missionary and
convenient halls where he could speak at his outlying districts; a trip
to the city for Mom Wallis, where she might see a real picture-gallery,
her one expressed desire this side of heaven, now that she had taken to
reading Browning and had some of it explained to her. Oh, and a lot of
wonderful things! These all hung in the dream-picture before Gardley's
eyes as he sat at his desk with that bit of yellow paper in his hand.

He thought of what that money had represented to him in the past.
Reckless days and nights of folly as a boy and young man at college;
ruthless waste of time, money, youth; shriveling of soul, till Margaret
came and found and rescued him! How wonderful that he had been rescued!
That he had come to his senses at last, and was here in a man's
position, doing a man's work in the world! Now, with all that money,
there was no need for him to work and earn more. He could live idly all
his days and just have a good time--make others happy, too. But still he
would not have this exhilarating feeling that he was supplying his own
and Margaret's necessities by the labor of hand and brain. The little
telegram in his hand seemed somehow to be trying to snatch from him all
this m