"I want to thank you again. God bless you.
"Your father,
"JAMES MARSTON."
Calumet slowly folded the letter and placed it into a pocket. He looked at Toban, a glint of reproach in his eyes.
"So, it was you that I kept hearin' in the office—nights," he said.
"I reckon," said Toban. He looked at Betty and grinned.
Calumet also looked at her. His face was sober.
"I reckon I've been some fool," he said. "But I was more than a fool when I thought—"
"I didn't blame you much for that," smiled Betty. "You see, both times you heard us talking it happened that Taggart was somewhere in the vicinity, and—"
"Well," interrupted Toban with a grin; "I reckon you two will be able to get along without any outside interference, now."
They both watched in silence as he went to the door and stepped outside. He halted and looked at them, whereat they both reddened. Then he grinned widely and was gone.
Betty stood at one side of the sitting-room door, Calumet at the other. Both were in the kitchen. Bob, also, was in the kitchen, though Calumet and Betty did not see him; so it appeared to Bob. Having some recollection of a certain light in Betty's eyes on the night that Calumet had brought home the puppy, Bob's wisdom impelled him to compare it with the light that was in them now, and he suspected—he knew—