“I haven’t known you to take to law so violently in four years. What’s up? Got a capital case?”
“Yes, I believe I have. It’s a matter of life and death to one poor soul anyhow.”
“Now, honour bright haven’t you been working all this afternoon on a love-letter that you’ve just finished and addressed to Independence?”
“‘No sir. To tell you the fact, I didn’t dare to ask her to write to me. I knew I couldn’t control a pen.”
“My boy, I wish you success with all my heart. It makes me young again to look into your face. I’ve had my supper, when you’ve finished your confab with your Auntie, come out here in the square to the seat under the old oak, I want to talk to you on some important business.”
“What have you been doing,” asked Mrs. Durham.
“Building a home for her!” he cried in a whisper. He went behind the chair where his foster mother sat pouring his tea, bent low and kissed her high white forehead. “My own Mother! I ’ll never call you Auntie again!”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she kissed his hand, tenderly holding it to her lips.
“Ah! Love is a wonder worker, isn’t he Charlie?”
“Yes, and I can’t realise the joy that lifts and inspires me when I think that I am one of the elect. It’s too good to be true. I have been initiated into the great secret. I have tasted the water of Life. I shall not see Death.”