“I—I’ve seen pa,” Jimmy said in strange, inconsequent sort of haste. “He sent his love to you.”
Old Uncle Amasa laid trembling hands on him, and wordlessly drew him close.
Jimmy looked about at the familiar place, scarred with the fire where the shed had stood. “The man that set it is killed,” he said. “He did it to spite you, grandfather, for an old, old grudge. He broached the barrels and then when he couldn’t drink any more he set fire to the shed and rode away, and I found him.” He looked back at the old man.—“Governor Claiborne of Mississippi sent his regards to you. He says we’re cousins. He was right at the head of everything. You would have liked that. I tell you, if you’d been at New Orleans, you’d have been proud of the family.”
Marion came up and shook Uncle Amasa’s hand. “You would have been proud right along,” he said, eagerly. “It was Jimmy that pulled us through.”
Uncle Amasa chuckled and patted Jimmy’s shoulder. “I kinder thought it would do Jimmy right much good to go out into the world,” he said.
Master Hempstead now came up and shook Jimmy’s hand. “When we last met did not Sir Balin smite Sir Lanceor until the blood flowed over his hawberk? Zounds, son, I am glad that you’ve found that somebody else was the incendiary.”
“I owe you an apology, sir,” said Jimmy with great respect. “I was too hasty.”
“It’s a grand thing to be hasty,” murmured Uncle Amasa, rubbing the bald side of his head where the Indians had scalped him.
“I guess the governor thought so when Jimmy saved him from the assassin’s bullet,” laughed Marion. “It seems to be all a question of being hasty in the right place. Don’t you think so, Jimmy?”
“I guess that’s it,” said Jimmy, happily.