"It's—it's lil' Cyn, Sandy, and she wants—you!"
Then he drew her in, closed the door upon the world and, holding her before him by the shoulders, looked deep and searchingly into her eyes which met his unflinchingly and trustfully.
"Thank God!" was all he said, but in that moment poor Lans Treadwell passed unscathed before his last judge.
"How thin you are, little Cyn!"
Sandy had drawn the big leather chair to the hearth and seated her in it. He took off the cloak and hood and then stood back.
"I reckon the longing for home did it, Sandy."
"You have—been homesick?"
"Oh! mighty homesick. I have wanted the mountain until my soul hurt."
"Poor lil' Cyn."
"Say it again, Sandy, say it again!" The dimmed eyes implored him.