Mr. Duff nodded. "I came in with him yesterday."
"And have you seen Uncle Jim, and surely you are going to stay with us, or am I going with you?"
The tall man blushed a bit under his tan, and taking off his spectacles he began to rub them nervously with his handkerchief.
"Son," he said, squinting up his eyes as if the light hurt him, "we've got to have a talk."
"And you hate talking," said Dallas. "Never mind, Father, I'll find out from Uncle Jim."
"No, son," said Mr. Duff, putting on his glasses again, "I've left too many explanations to Uncle Jim. I'm going to take one load off his shoulders."
"He's a wonder, isn't he," said our boy enthusiastically. "I wish I'd known him sooner."
Mr. Duff twisted his lips as if he were taking some medicine, then he said in quite a nice manly way, "It's a painful thing for a father to have to ask a son's pardon, but I've got to do it."
"For what, Father, dear Father?" said my generous-hearted master. "If you ever did anything wrong, I've forgotten it. I've not been a perfect boy myself. Many little tempers I've had that you didn't know anything about."
Mr. Duff leaned against the old lichen-covered boulder and laying one hand on it said, "Old rock, I confess to you, since my boy won't let me confess to him, that I've been forty-five years in the world learning how not to live."