Glen was happier than she had ever been in her life, and while her father and Reynolds talked, she paid little attention to what they were saying. She was thinking of the great change which had come over her father during the last few days. He had made no reference to her confession of love for the young man, for which she was most thankful. She believed that he liked Reynolds, and found in him a companion after his own heart. Her cares had been suddenly lifted, for in the presence of the two men she loved her fears and forebodings were forgotten.
After supper they sat for a while in front of the cabin. The men smoked and chatted. It was a perfect night, and not at all dark, for a young moon was riding over the hills. Not a ripple ruffled the surface of the lake, and the great forest lay silent and mysterious around. Weston told several stories of his experiences in the wilderness, especially of his encounter with a grizzly.
"I am very proud of the final shot which brought the brute down," he said in conclusion. "I wish you both could have seen it."
"I do not believe it was any finer than the one which brought my grizzly down," Glen challenged. "You should have seen that, daddy. It was wonderful!"
"Where did you learn to shoot so well?" Weston asked, turning to
Reynolds.
"Over in France. I was a sharpshooter for a while."
"Well, that is interesting," and Weston blew a cloud of smoke into the air, while his eyes wandered off across the lake. "Had some lively experiences, I suppose?"
"Yes, at times. But, then, no more than others. All did their share, and did it the best they could."
"Did you get anything; that is, were you wounded?"
"I have a number of scars; that's all," was the modest reply.