As before, Jack shielded his eyes with one hand and peered about. And, as he peered, he vented a cry that was the aggregate of all certitude. His left hand he lifted to guard the bird, then started down the hill.
From out the nether hazes a man-shade came climbing toward them. That he lately had arrived from Earth showed in the anxiety of his dark, strong face. When he saw who was shuffling toward him and recognized the excited, childish voice hailing him, he increased his pace. When they met, father and son:
“Greetings, John Cabot!”
“Jack Cabot, greetings!”
The large and small hands gripped.
“I had a feeling you were due,” explained the boy, conquering the first incoherency of his delight. “I guess Dick must have felt the same way. Did you hear him sing as we came over the hill? Oh, John, I’m so glad you’ve come! This is a wonderful place to be happy in. But you can’t be happy alone. I’ve come back ever so often, hoping that you or——”
“Then you haven’t seen her yet?”
“You mean?” For a moment the child-soul stared up at his father’s emotionful face. He stood on tip-toe to whisper his interpretation, lest the joy-jealous zephyrs snatch it away. “Not her—not ’Lores!”
“She came a month since. I am sure she would have been on the lookout for you, Jack. Strange you have not met.”
“Maybe——” Jack shuddered. “It’s an awful journey over. Maybe she got so afraid of the snakes and the owls and the wild asses——”