“Of course I’m glad,” his mother said, looking proudly at her son, “but I’m not surprised. I knew he could do it.”
Scott opened the other letter. It was from the Forest Service appointing him to a position in the White Mountains at twelve hundred dollars per year. He turned it over silently to his mother.
“Thank heaven, it’s near home,” she said fervently.
“Mother, do you see that mark of ninety-four in lumbering?” he asked, referring to the Civil Service sheet again. “That’s what I learned last Christmas when you thought I ought to come home.”
“I knew you were right, Scott, and I’m glad you stayed, but it was hard to believe it then.”
“Come,” Dr. Burton urged cheerfully, “let’s eat supper if I am not too proud. I never felt so stuck up in my life.”
“And I never felt so happy,” Scott said. “I must wire the news to Johnson.”
“Good,” said Dr. Burton; “from what you have written of that man, Johnson”—Scott looked up anxiously, conscious for the first time since his arrival of the great prize that was yet hanging in the balance. The first joy of the homecoming had driven it completely out of his head—“he must be a remarkable fellow. And many of those others that you have mentioned in the past year strike me as being especially promising material. I am entirely satisfied with you, Scotty, and tomorrow you shall be the legal owner of that ten-thousand-acre forest.”