ou say it is. My
God! Sam, when I dare to think of it I go all to pieces. It is too good
to be true. Nothing has ever come my way that amounted to much in this
life. How could as big a thing as that be for me?"

"Well, it just is." Cavanaugh stood up, his fine face working in
sympathy. "The Lord has fixed it that way, my boy. You have had a hard
time, but your day is dawning. And listen to me. Under your full joy you
are going to wake up into a gratitude to the Creator for His great
gifts. You've been bitter--so bitter, for one reason or another, that
you've denied even God's existence, but with a believing wife like Tilly
at your side, and with children to bring up right, you will be
different. You are just a boy, anyway--a great, big, awkward, stumbling
boy, but you are going to make a man, and a good one."

CHAPTER XVIII

They parted outside the little gate, agreeing to meet at the Square in
the afternoon, and John pursued his way homeward. The very ground seemed
to fall away from his feet as he put them down. His whole body felt like
an imponderable thing over which he had little control. The swelling joy
within him fairly choked him.

"My God! My God!" he said several times, aloud. "Sam's a fool. Sam's a
fool. It can't be so. My Lord! how could it? And that little house. It
is a beauty and most women would like to run it and keep it in order. I
wonder if she would with me. I wonder."

He found Dora under an apple-tree in the front yard, playing with some
rag dolls she had made from scraps of finery cast off by her aunt and
Mrs. Trott. A brick represented a table, and on it were arranged bits of
china for plates. Other pieces of make-believe furniture were
constructed of cardboard cut and bent into shape. She glanced up as he
swung open the gate, smiled a welcome from a soiled face, and wiped her
itching nose on the back of her slender hand. She did not rise or make
any sort of physical demonstration by way of greeting.

"Where are the folks?" he asked, glancing into the house through the
open doorway.

"Asleep, I reckon," she said, busy with the pink sash of one of her
legless ladies, the tinseled hat of which was pinned askew over a pair
of eyes formed of green beads. "They've only been home about an hour.
Aunt Jane is sick. Your ma said she fainted at the party and they all
thought she was dead for a while."

"Those are not good dolls," John said, from the depths of his turbulent
joy. "I'll tell