And because
of these things, to the keen old physician and student of life, the boy
was a revelation of that best part of himself--that best part of the
race. With the years this feeling of the Doctor's toward the boy has
grown even as their fellowship. But Dan has never understood; how indeed
could he?
It was always Dan who met the Doctor at the little wilderness station,
and who said the last good-bye when the visit was over. Always they were
together, roaming about the hills, on fishing trips to the river,
exploring the country for new delights, or revisiting their familiar
haunts. Dan seemed, in his quiet way, to claim his old friend by right
of discovery and the others laughingly yielded, giving the Doctor--as
Young Matt, the father, put it--"a third interest in the boy."
And so, with the companionship of the yearly visits, and frequent letters
in the intervening months, the Doctor watched the development of his
young friend, and dreamed of the part that Dan would play in life when he
became a man. And often as he watched the boy there was, on the face of
the old physician, that look of half envy, half regret.
In addition to his training at the little country school, Dan's mother
was his constant teacher, passing on to her son as only a mother could,
the truths she had received from her old master, the Shepherd. But when
the time came for more advanced intellectual training the choice of a
college was left to their friend.
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