Billy Jack could hardly believe his ears. That his mother should desert him, and should support what he knew she felt to be injustice and tyranny, was more than he could understand. No less perplexed was her husband.
As they stood there looking at each other, uncertain as to the next step, there came a knock at the back door. The mother went to open it, pausing on her way to push back some chairs and put the room to rights, thus allowing the family to regain its composure.
“Good morning, Mrs. Finch. You will be thinking I have slept in your barn all night.” It was Long John Cameron.
“Come away in, Mr. Cameron. It is never too early for friends to come to this house,” said Mrs. Finch, her voice showing her great relief.
Long John came in, glanced shrewdly about, and greeted Mr. Finch with great heartiness.
“It's a fine winter day, Mr. Finch, but it looks as if we might have a storm. You are busy with the logs, I hear.”
Old Donald was slowly recovering himself.
“And a fine lot you are having,” continued Long John. “I was just saying the other day that it was wonderful the work you could get through.”
“Indeed, it is hard enough to do anything here,” said Donald Finch, with some bitterness.
“You may say so,” responded Long John, cheerfully. “The snow is that deep in the bush, and—”