“I wish dad and mother could see us now,” he said, sadly, as his thoughts wandered back over the long bitter years he had spent in solitude.
“Perhaps they can,” breathed Peggy, softly; “let us hope so.”
“Thank you,” said the old hermit, with a sigh.
But the conversation soon turned to a merrier vein. And then it drifted into business. Mr. Bancroft happened to stop in on his way into town and after a long talk with Jim Bell he seriously advised Roy to accept the mining man’s proposal.
“I’ll put you up a factory any place you say,” said the millionaire, “and you can turn out all that we require. I’ve a notion, too, that they might be used as general freight carriers over arid stretches of country where there are no railroads, and feed and water for stock is scarce.”
“Not a doubt of it,” said Mr. Bancroft.
Before he left the preliminary papers had been drawn up and signed, and Roy Prescott found himself fairly launched in business. But in all this success he did not forget how much he owed to Peggy. Recent events had softened the boy’s character and reduced his conceit wonderfully.
“I owe it all to you, little sis,” he said that evening.
“I don’t know about all,” cried Jimsy, who was present; “but you do owe a whole lot to her, old man, and I’m glad to see you acknowledge it at last.”
“I always have,” cried Roy, turning rather red, though.