Douglas moistened his lips. "He followed my father to the half-way house. Dad was all in. Couldn't even build himself a fire. Johnny wouldn't do a thing for him. He went outside and sat down on the doorstep with my shot-gun across his knees; every time Dad yelled at him he said he was saving Jude for Douglas. The last of the afternoon Peter and I came up and found old Johnny there."
"Good old Johnny!" said Judith again.
Douglas nodded, hesitated, then said. "He was asleep and we couldn't wake him up."
Judith's eyes suddenly filled with horror. "You couldn't wake him up?
You mean—"
Again Douglas nodded. "He was gone, poor old Johnny. For you and me. I came on after you, alone."
Judith twisted her hands together. "But dead, Doug! And in such a simple way! O the poor little old chap! I can't forgive myself, Douglas!"
"It's the way he'd like to have gone. You are not to blame."
"O, yes, I am. I should have stopped and sent him home. But I was beside myself, Doug,—O, you don't know! you can't know!"
"You're not to blame yourself about Johnny, I tell you."
"Now I never do want to go back! You'll just have to grub-stake me,
Doug. Please!"