"Aye, a little lad, five years younger than myself."
"What—what became of him, Sandy?"
"What became of him—that's a question that I wish I could answer! He came to Crescent Ranch years ago with my father and me and was about the place for a long time. But he was all for the city. He hated the quiet of the hills. He wanted to be seeing people and to be around in the rush of things, and he begged my father to let him go to some big place and find a job. My father was ever a strict man and he would have none of the youngster's going off by himself. There came a day, though, when the lad was so sore and unhappy that my father bid him set off for the East. There was no other way to satisfy the boy. But it was a sad time for my father—and for me, too."
"Where did he go?"
"To some city on the coast, I dinna just know where. We were ever thinking he would come back some day—but he never did. It is years now since I have had tidings from him. But sometimes when I am here by myself I cannot but wonder where he is and what has become of him. He'd be a man near twenty-five now."
"Does my father know this?"
"Likely not."
"Aye, to be sure. No boy should have secrets from his father."
"I can't see why a boy should want to," declared Donald. "Why, my father and I are—well, we are the greatest friends in the world! I like to be with him better than any one else."