"Really."
"And so am I," said the girl softly. "Because—because, Andy, that wonderful 'something' has happened. Now I know beyond all doubt that I have always loved you and—I love you now."
"Then," said he, drawing her head down to him, "then——"
"You may kiss me with a clear conscience, Andy."
While Margaret was dispensing her welcome ministrations Grant and his men were going over the buildings. Their swift search found everything intact. Two of the riders who had gone out to the portable granary reported all well there. Not a grain of The Red Knight had been touched. While this was gratifying, the men's faces were exceedingly grave. Nowhere on the premises could they find Dad Blackford. They were beginning to discuss the probability of foul play when Easy Murphy gave a yell.
"Hist, ladies and gintlemen!" said he. "Take a look. 'Tis the missing link himsilf, disguised as Santa Clause."
They all took a look and there on the porch stood Dad Blackford hatless and dishevelled, with snow-matted beard and a very red and perspiring face. He was blowing like a grampus and looked for all the world like the merry personality of Christmas tide. His eyes were astonished at the sight they met and how they sparkled as they recounted to him the night's adventures. His joy at finding that all was well more than compensated for the shameless treatment he had received at the hands of the artful Sykes.
When Margaret got him alone she somewhat surprised him.
"Never mind, Dad," she confided. "After all it's been a delightful adventure. Andy got a sore head but it will soon be better. His heart is well again."
Dad looked at her a moment dumbfounded. Then he tumbled and the laughter of a merry heart twinkled in his eyes.