st, and we
ought to spend part of it with the folks that really love
us, and we love you, John--both of us do.

John sat down in his room one night to answer this letter, but, though
he tried very hard, he could think of little to say. Cavanaugh's simple
phrases had sounded his deepest emotional depths, and yet he could not
bring himself to write an appropriate response. He started to mention
the death of Binks, but gave that up. That, he argued, would only cause
his old friend to be the more deeply concerned over his welfare. So he
wrote the most cheerful letter of which he was capable, about his
activity in business matters, and his ability to look on the bright side
of such things as the absence of Dora and his unmarried state. He ended
the letter with this:

Yes, I fully agree with you in regard to a frank and
truthful statement about my being alive, etc. I understand
the situation and don't blame you at all. Tell every one who
cares to inquire that the newspaper report was a mistake and
that you saw me while you were here. I want to see you and
your wife as badly as you want to see me, but I'm afraid I
cannot come down, now, at any rate.

CHAPTER VII

Joel Eperson sat on his small one-horse wagon, which was loaded with
fire-wood. He was taking the wood to Cavanaugh's from the small farm he
was renting two miles from Ridgeville. Joel had aged remarkably. Young
as he was, his thin hair and beard were becoming gray, and his sallow
face was seamed with lines of worry and care. His clothing was of the
cheapest material and threadbare, and yet faultlessly clean. As he got
down at the front gate Cavanaugh and his wife, who were seated under an
apple-tree at the side of the house, came around to meet him.

"Here is the wood you wanted," Joel said, removing his hat in quite his
old chivalrous way. "You said dry oak, and I found plenty on the hill
back of my corn-field."

"And mighty nigh killed yourself cutting it in lengths and splitting
it," Cavanaugh said. "Dry oak is a hard proposition for anything but a
sawmill. What do you want for this load?"

"A dollar is what I usually get," Joel answered, sensitive as he always
was when dealing with friends.

"Humph!" Cavanaugh sniffed, and looked at his wife. "This load is twice
as big as any dollar load I ever bought, and will throw out twice as
much heat to the square inch. I'll tell you, Joel, I've got a two-dollar