"The Emperor of China sent for him—and he wouldn't go," said the boy. "The Emperor of Japan sent for him—and he couldn't refuse. That's the character of gentleman that's spent years trying to make a man of me."
Suddenly Boone laid the sword on the table and dropped on his knees beside it, with his hands clasped over the hilt.
"Almighty God," he prayed, "give me the strength to make good—and not disappoint him."
It was a heavy hearted young man who presented himself the next night at the house of Cyrus Spradling, and one who went as a penitent to the confessional.
Once more the father sat on the porch alone with his twilight pipe, and once more the skies behind the ridges were high curtains of pale amber.
"Ye're a sight fer sore eyes, boy," declared the old mountaineer heartily. "An' folks 'lows thet ye aims ter run fer office, too. Wa'al, I reckon betwixt me an' you, we kin contrive ter make shore of yore gettin' two votes anyhow. I pledges ye mine fer sartain."
Boone laughed though tears would better have fitted his mood, and the old fellow chuckled at his own pleasantry.
"I reckon my gal will be out presently," Cyrus went on. "I've done concluded thet ye war p'int-blank right in arguing that schoolin' wouldn't harm her none."
But when the girl came out, the man went in and left them, as he always did, and though the plucking of banjos within told of the family full gathered, none of the other members interrupted the presumed courtship which was so cordially approved.