Dan laughed. "Perhaps I want to look for my garden," he said.
"Good!" ejaculated the other, now very much in earnest. "Let me help you, lad. You know what I have always hoped for you. My profession needs—."
Dan interrupted gently, "No. No Doctor, not that. I have a notion—but there—it's all too vague yet to even discuss. When I am ready to go home I'll write you and you can meet me there. Will you?"
The old man hid his disappointment, answering heartily, "Sure I will! I'll be there when you arrive, to help kill the fatted calf." He did not tell Dan of a letter from his mother urging him, for certain reasons, to visit them, or that he had already promised her to be with them when Dan should return.
The shadows were beginning to stretch toward the river, and the cattle were moving slowly in the direction of the farmyard, hidden somewhere beyond the fringe of timber, when the two friends went leisurely back to the road to find their rig and start for home.
Climbing the fence they paused and—seated on the top rail—watched a team and buggy just coming down the opposite bank of the stream to cross the ford. Midway the horses stopped to drink.
"By George," muttered the Doctor, "it's our friend the Judge!"
The same instant, Dan recognized the man in the buggy. With the recognition all the brightness went out of his face—as a cloud, all the sadness returned.
"Doctor," Dan said, slipping down from the fence as he spoke, "excuse me a minute. I must speak to that man."
The Doctor kept his place on the fence, while Dan stepped into the road.
The team, when they had left the ford, stopped as they reached him.