We stood, Mr. Stewart and I, at the outer gate, and watched them down the river road, until the jutting headland intervened. As we walked slowly back toward the house, my guardian said, as if talking partly to himself:
"There is nothing clearer in natural law than that sons inherit from their mothers. I know of only two cases in all history where an able man had a father superior in brain and energy to the mother--Martin Luther and the present King of Prussia. Perhaps it was all for the best."
To this I of course offered no answer, but trudged along through the melting snow by his side.
Presently, as we reached the house, he stopped and looked the log structure critically over.
"You heard what I said, Douw, upon your belonging henceforth to this house--to me?"
"Yes, Mr. Stewart."
"And now, lo and behold, I have a daughter as well! To-morrow we must plan out still another room for our abode."
Thus ended the day on which my story properly and prophetically begins--the day when I first met Master Philip Cross.