CHAPTER XII.
A JOYFUL MEETING.
Cyril was ill for several weeks after the assault upon him by the angry men at Mr. Ellison's saw-mill. When at last he crept out of his bedroom, looking pale and thin, winter had begun in good earnest, and the rough roads through the forest were quite impassable. The snow was coming down as if it never meant to stop, and the keen, cold wind blew it in great drifts on every side.
Whilst Cyril lay ill on his hard mattress two travellers going south to Chicago had called at the saw-mill; with either of them he might have travelled had he been well enough to do so. It was all very trying, and sometimes the boy was inclined to murmur at the cruel results which had followed his well-meant attempt to defend the cause of the poor Indians. But then again he was reassured, as his constant attendant, old Davidson, told him of first one and then another of the men having expressed contrition about their treatment, not only of the boy, but also of the poor Indian women. It had never struck them before, they said, that it was wrong to cheat a redskin. Until the English boy stood up and called their conduct monstrous it had seemed quite the proper thing. They had bitterly resented being corrected, and had beaten their monitor for doing it, but afterwards, as Mr. Ellison had foretold, they saw that he was in the right. Under the influence of these better feelings they were easily led by the Davidsons to unite in sending Cyril a message that they apologised for thrashing him, and promised that in future they would respect the rights even of poor Indians.
The thought of all this greatly consoled Cyril, and helped him to bear patiently his pain and weakness, and the disappointment about his delayed return home.
When at last he was strong enough to travel, and the roads were not so bad, no one happened to be going south, and Mr. Ellison really could not send him just then. As the time went on, therefore, he felt very sad and lonely.
One evening, however, as he sat musing sorrowfully in the men's sitting-room—his heart too sore to allow him to join in the usual fun—he heard the sound of approaching horses clattering over the frozen yard. Then there was a loud rap at the door, followed by many others, louder and louder still, as the person outside endeavoured to make himself heard within the house.
Mr. Ellison strode to the door and threw it open.
"Who is there?" he demanded.
"I have come in search of—" began a rich, courteous voice.
"Father!" The cry, so joyous, so eloquent with tenderness, rang through the room. Then Cyril flew across the boarded floor and flung himself into the open arms of the new-comer.