“I won’t,” Allan promised and hurried away.
Five minutes later, he opened the door of the dining-room again, and saw who the visitor was.
“Why, Reddy!” he cried, going quickly forward, his hand outstretched. “How are you? I’m glad to see you.”
“The same here, Allan,” answered Reddy Magraw, warmly gripping the hand outstretched to him in his own honest palm. “An’ mighty glad I was when Jack asked me t’ be here t’-day.”
“To-day,” echoed Allan, glancing quickly around at the smiling faces. “Why, what day is it?”
“Don’t you know?” asked Jack, his face all one broad grin. “Don’t you know, boy?”
Mamie’s eyes were dancing, as she looked at Allan’s perplexed countenance.
“Oh, it’s a disgrace, Allan, if you don’t remember!” she cried.
“I’ll tell you what day it is, me boy,” said Reddy, his face beaming. “It’s jist eight year ago t’-day sence a little scalpeen named Allan West come along out there on Section Twinty-one an’ asked the foreman, Jack Welsh, fer a job. We’re meetin’ here t’-night t’ celebrate his good jedgment in givin’ ye one.”
“’Tis the thing in all my life I’m most proud of,” said Jack.