“Nothing at all. Mother, I”—his voice caught suddenly, and he cleared his throat—“I am not really a marrying man. Marriage seems to be the happy fate of some fellows, but I am an exception. I have a great work before me—a sort of duty, as I see it—and these mountains are the best field on earth.”
“Oh, I'm so happy I hardly know what to do.” Her face was fairly glowing. “This thing will tickle Jeff an' Mandy to death. I am glad you made up with Jeff. He's all right, Paul. He means well. He's just been unlucky, that is all.”
“Yes, he is all right,” Paul agreed, “and things will run more smoothly with him from now on.”
They were nearing the cabin. They saw Warren in front of the door, a bowed, sentinel-like figure in the red light of the fire within. His face was toward them as they approached, but he made no movement. His wife quickened her step, and going ahead of her son she took her husband's hands.
“Jeff, Jeff!” she was heard to say, and Paul caught the words, “cottage,” “furniture,” and “oh, ain't it glorious?”
Warren said nothing, but Paul heard him sigh. He pressed his wife's hands spasmodically and then dropped them. Firmly he advanced to meet his stepson, and paused in front of him.
“The Lord ought to have let your shot go deeper that night, Paul,” he gulped, and for the first time in his life his eyes and voice were full of tears.
“The Lord caught that shot in His hand, Jeff,” Paul answered. “He saved us both, and we are wiser now!”