"Yes; for years it lay under the bed of Darrel. By and by he put the money in a savings bank—all but a few dollars."
"And why did he wait so long, before returning it?"
"He tried to be rid of the money, but was unable to find Thompson. And Trove, he lived to repay every creditor. Ah, sir, he was a man of a thousand."
"That story of Darrel's in the little shop—I see—it was fact in a setting of fiction."
"That's all it pretended to be," said the old man of the hills.
"One more query," said the other. He was now mounted. "I know Darrel went to prison for the sake of the boy, but did some one set him free?"
"His own character. Leblanc came to love him—like the other prisoners—and, sir, he confessed. I declare!—it's daylight now and here I am with the lantern. Good-by, and Merry Christmas!"
The other rode away, slowly, looking back at the dim glow of the lantern, which now, indeed, was like a symbol of the past.
* * * * * *
Eben Holden