Mr. Milford looked at him thoughtfully as if considering something. Then he said slowly:
“Uncle Dan’l, just how much would it mean to you to find the owner of that pouch?”
“Why, Jimmy,” was the tremulous answer, “if it led to any trace of my boy it would be the one great hope of my life realized.”
“You are quite sure that you _want_ to bring him back? That it would be best for all concerned?” he continued meaningly.
There was a silence, then the old man answered with dignity:
“I know what you’re thinking of, and considering all that’s gone before, I’m not blaming you, but I can tell you this, Jimmy Milford. If the town could know all that I know it’d be glad and proud to have my boy brought back to it.”
He smote the fist of one hand into the palm of the other and looked about like something trapped, seeking escape.
“It isn’t fair!” he exclaimed. “It isn’t fair! Him worthy to hold up his head with the best of them, and me bound not to tell. But I’ve given my promise,” he added, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “I s’pose it’ll all work out for the best, somehow, in the Lord’s own good time, but I can’t seem to see the justice in it now.”
He sat staring dejectedly ahead of him with dim, appealing eyes.
The younger man took a step forward and laid an arm across the bent shoulders.