He groped out, and the hands of the three met in the darkness.
"God bless you—both! And go south—always south. Now go—go! I think I hear footsteps—"
He thrust them to the door, Nada with her bundle and Roger with his pack. Suddenly he felt Peter at his side, and reaching down he fastened his fingers in the scruff of his neck, and held him back.
"Good-bye," he whispered huskily. "Good-bye—Nada—Roger—"
A sob came back out of the gloom.
"Good-bye, father."
And then they listened, Peter and Father John, until the swift footsteps of the two they loved passed beyond their hearing.
Peter whimpered, and struggled a little, but Father John held him as he closed the door.
"It's best for you to stay, Peter," he tried to explain. "It's best for you to stay—with me. For I think they are going a far distance, and will come to a land where you would shrivel up and die. Besides, you could not go in the canoe. So be good, and remain with me, Peter—with me—"
And the Leaf Bud, standing wide-eyed and motionless, heard a strange little choking laugh come from Father John as he groped in darkness for a light.