Gradually Cephas thawed out. One or the other had to surrender, and the small boy had no such incentive to silence as Nan had. His pride was not involved, whereas Nan would have gone to the rack and suffered herself to be pulled to pieces before she would have asked any direct questions about Gabriel.
"I'm mighty sorry I went," said Cephas finally, and then he stopped short.
"Why?" inquired Nan.
"Oh, well—I don't know exactly. I thought I would find everybody just like they were before they went away, but the one I saw looked like a drove of mules had trompled on him. He didn't have on any coat, and his shirt was torn and dirty, and his face looked like he had been sick a month. His eyes were hollow, and had black circles around them."
"Did he say anything?" asked Nan in a low tone.
"Yes, he said, 'Brace up, old man.'"
"Was that all?"
"And then he asked if anybody had sent him any word, and I said, 'Nobody but Mr. Sanders'; and then he said, 'I might have known that he wouldn't forget me.'" Cephas could see Nan crushing her handkerchief in her hand, and he enjoyed it immensely.
"Was he angry with any one?" Nan asked.
"Why, when did anybody ever hear of his being angry with any one he thought was a friend?" exclaimed Cephas scornfully. Nan writhed at this, and Cephas went on. "He had been tied up by the wrists, and then he had been put in a sweat-box, and nearly roasted—yes, by grabs! pretty nigh cooked."