“Was it his left leg that was the shorter?” pursued Elmer.
“That isn’t just a guess, is it?” demanded the other; “you seem to know, Elmer! Tell me what it means, oh! please do!”
Elmer looked at him rather uncertainly. Then, as if making up his mind he had no business to hold back anything from a chum, he went on to explain.
“You know I pride myself somewhat on my woodcraft knowledge, Amos; and it was easy for me to discover that the unknown—er, party who has been hanging about our camp here, hoping to recover that knife, had a short left leg; for his right foot always showed much more plainly than the other.”
Amos groaned.
“Then it is he!” he muttered. “Poor dad, and poor mother! Oh! what wouldn’t I give, if I had never been tempted to come up here with you to Log Cabin Bend. Then perhaps I’d still be contented in believing that he had long ago ceased to suffer in body and mind.”
“Will you tell your mother when you go back home, Amos?”
“Had I better, do you think?” he asked, almost desperately.
“You must settle that for yourself, Amos. Think it over before you decide one way or the other. Your first consideration should be the happiness of the mother you love so much. Will it do any good to share your secret with her; or must it reopen old wounds that time has partly healed?”
“That’s it!” muttered Amos, shaking his head sadly. “I know how she will begin to lie awake nights again like she did before, and look so sorrowful, always watching down the road as if half hoping to see him come limping along, waving his hand to us, as he did every night when returning from the office. Yes, I mustn’t be rash: I would cut my hand off sooner than do a thing to make my mother cry as she used to years ago.”