He was glad, glad, glad. He did not know why, nor care why. He could not bear to think of anything of the bush-world being shut up without a chance of escape. He passed outside and Hallibut followed him.
“Boy,” said the big man, “I guess you think me an old fool, don’t you?”
He went over and laid his hand affectionately on the young man’s arm.
“I guess I’m getting old and rather childish, Boy. I’ve just received one of God’s great gifts, and there is nothing much in my old heart this spring morning but joy—joy I’ve had to do without for many weary years. Well, Boy, you know how the old trees of the bush lean when they’ve lived their full years. You know how they topple and sag. You have seen them do it, haven’t you? But sometimes a strong young sapling props them up and they go on living and throwing out their leaves—but they’re not standing alone.”
His arm slipped about Boy’s shoulders.
“Boy,” he said huskily, “I need a prop. I want to hang on because I’ve just found real happiness. But I’m sagging, lad; I’m just an old tree.”
Boy turned and grasped the Colonel’s hand. He felt a tear splash down and his throat tightened and burned.
“I guess I understand,” he said softly. “I’ve growed deep into—all this, and there’s always a saplin’ you can lean on if you care to.”
He sprang away down the path toward the log-barn and the Colonel watched him, a deep glow in his heart.
From the kitchen came the savory smell of frying bacon and Gloss’s happy voice singing an old-fashioned song.