d to the tips
of her dainty feet, she's the truest, squarest, tenderest creature the
Lord ever sent to lighten this dark world. They all love her, every
one of them rough, hard-handed sons of toil whom she calls her 'boys';
but there isn't one, not one, can begin to love her as I do. Not one.
It is she that makes me still keep a little faith----There, there!
what an old fool I am! But, thanks, all the same, and don't you forget
I'm your own to command if need comes. Shake, neighbor, and may your
age be----Giddap there, Prince! Let'son, lad; let's get on."

Ninian did get on, but again silently pondering that here again was
something mysterious in this honest octogenarian's mood. There was an
undercurrent of sorrow which, he was sure, was wholly distinct from
the anxieties of his mistress and her household, and he wondered what
it might be. Surely, for an old man, though wifeless and childless he
had much to make him happy. The devotion of the family in which he had
lived for so long, his comfortable home, his freedom from care
concerning his future--to the young man struggling amidst a crowd of
competitors to make a place for himself in the world, it seemed as if
the venerable sharpshooter had cause for nothing but rejoicing.
However, these might be mere imaginations, and best banished for the
present.

Ephraim made straight for the house, and the sound of the horses'
footfalls brought figures flying to the open doors; most welcome of
these in the eyes of the two men, the small one of Jessica herself,
her head stretched forth as she peered into the night, and the
lamplight behind her making a radiance about her golden head and
slender gracefulness. But she poised there on the threshold only for
an instant, till she was sure what animals these were, then darted
toward them with uplifted hands and a cry of delight:

"They've come! Oh, mother, they've come!--they've come!"

Another moment and the reporter had slipped from his saddle and had
caught up the little girl, more glad on his own part than he would
have once thought possible to have her once more beside him.

"Yes, captain, here we are! But did you expect us--or me? And how
could you tell that we were not strangers?"

"Why, don't you suppose I'd know the step of any horse for ours? And
though Nimrod is yours now I know him like--like a brother. Don't I,
dear fellow?" and from Ninian's clasp she ran to embrace the down-bent
head of the thoroughbred.

On his