"Did the child live?" Doctor Rugvie's voice broke the silence somewhat sharply. I caught the flight of his thought; I am sure Jamie did also.
"Yes, lived ter be a blessing ter all she come nigh. She war n't more 'n three days old when he brought her home to Keziah. Happy was dead when he found her; more 'n thet he never told us. He left something for them with Lawyer Green—he told me he should do it. They lived on thet in part; it helped ter support 'em, fer they was in a tight place. Thet was how Job's luck came at last, poor soul—little enough it was. He kept on fer years, I heard, but was always weak-minded after he was told what had happened. They said he always used ter call the baby 'Happy', an' could n't bear her out of his sight. Then, when she was 'bout fourteen, he turned against her, an' kept thinkin' it was Happy herself; kept harpin' on her marriage to George, an' flingin' of what she 'd done inter her face, till the child could n't stand it no more. She never knew the whole truth, they said, till she was fifteen; then somebody was willin' ter tell her"—Cale smiled grimly—"as they see it, an' it 'bout finished what Job begun. I heard she never tasted a morsel of food for two days. The last I heard about her was, she was keepin' the district school. It's been most ten years now sence I heard anything; you don't often meet a man from our way up in Manitoba or the river basin of British Columbia, an' I never was no hand at writin'. Sometime I mean ter look her up. I ain't been able ter do fer her as I 'd ought ter, fer I had bad luck fer too many years—them pesky western wildcat banks cleaned me out twice."
"By what name was the child christened?" asked the Doctor.
"Never was christened thet I know of."
"Oh, Cale, if only they had been happier!" It was Jamie who spoke with almost a groan.
"Wal, thet's the mystery of it," was his quiet answer. Gathering his loose-jointed frame together, he rose. "Guess I 'll go an' look after the hosses; it's goin' ter be a skinner of a night." At the door he turned.
"I know I ain't told you nothin' livenin', but it's life, an' I could n't tell it no other way. It ain't jest the thing ter air fam'ly troubles, but it's all past; an' what I 've told, I 've told ter my friends, an' I 'll thank you ter let what I 've said be 'twixt us four."
We sat in silence for a while after he had left the room. I was wondering how I could make excuse to get away from them all, get away by myself and have it out with myself, when Jamie broke the silence:
"Doctor Rugvie, I 've been putting two and two together. You know what you told us the last time you were here about that New York episode? Do you suppose Cale's story is the key to that?"
"Possibly it might be, if those episodes were not of common occurrence—there are so many all the time."