Months afterward, when the last moonshiner had disappeared, and the old still in the forest had been dismantled, the doctor ventured to tell his wife of Joe's escape.
"And I have never thanked him," she said, her eyes filling with tears, as she went straight to the attic, where Conny was so deeply absorbed in a bit of carving that he did not see or hear her until she put her arms around him and kissed him again and again.
"I know all about it now, Conny—the brave, beautiful thing that you did for my boy."
"Oh, ma'am," said Conny, "it was nothing. I was so glad to do it."
Mrs. Hunter kissed him again, as she repeated, gently, "'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.'"
And Conny, not understanding, said, earnestly, "Maybe you'll think me presuming to be saying it, but it's that same I'd do for ye, ma'am, or for little Miss Betty, or the master himself, if it's any good it would be bringing ye."
"I believe you Conny," said Mrs. Hunter, "but I hope you may never have a chance to try."