"I'm glad, Jim," Lou answered happily.
"There's the minister that married Nell and Jack. He'll be there where we're going to visit Papa and Mamma Ross. Nell says he's a fine old chap. It would be nice to be married by the minister that married Nell. What do you think?"
"Oh, splendid!" Lou agreed, with enthusiasm. She smiled and dimpled. "Why, Jim, I saw him. He has such a good face! Jim, you don't know! I saw Nell married—my own daughter, and I never knew it!" She told the story.
"In the morning, we'll hit a good pace on the trail," Jim said, decisively, "and get to that parson as fast as ever we can."
"Yes," Lou said again.
The morrow broke fair and warmer after the storm. The four were off early, with the whole town turned out to do them honor at their parting. Afterward, the cheering populace would attend the obsequies of Dan McGrew.
The going was slow; whereat Jim Maxwell fretted hugely. But there was no other flaw in his perfect happiness, or in that of the woman who sat with her face turned so that she might look up often into the bearded one of the man as he ran behind the sled. Both were content. Already, yesterday was remote, with all its loneliness and grief. This was a new day, in a new life, the beginning of a happiness that would abide. The sorrows they had known had cleansed and strengthened them, and made them ready for a finer joy in their love. They spoke little together, for there was small need of words between them. Neither needed to tell the other of the torment endured during the years of separation. Neither wished to remember the evil that was gone. Why should they mourn when the cup of gladness was brimming at their lips? The past was dead. The scars from the old wounds would remain always. But they were hidden, and the wounds were healed by love's magic, and would ache no more. They set their faces to the future, where life shone radiant.
HE POINTED OUT—OVER THE BROAD-SWEEPING WHITENESS OF THE VALLEY—TOWARD THE SOUTHERN HORIZON.