I came back into the
woods looking for it that summer and found it gone and nothing left of
the Jenkins' cabin but a pile of charred logs. On my way out I stopped
here--somehow I thought that maybe you might have it--but the house was
closed. And no one seemed to know where you had gone or when you would
return."
Caleb nodded, and his eyes turned to Sarah.
"We were sleuthing, Steve," he explained as soberly as he was able.
"We were ranging from border to border and coast to coast, looking for
you." He stopped to scan the browned face closely for an instant.
"But couldn't you have written--or--or tried again? We've been
waiting--boy!"
Steve's face colored a little.
"I did try, twice after that," he stated, hesitatingly, "but I didn't
have much surplus cash for travel in those days, or--or clothes,
either. I'm afraid I wasn't too prepossessing an object, on any of
those visits, after I had tramped in overland. The house was closed
both times I came. And then I did write once--that was from San
Domingo--the third year after I left college. I was so lonesome down
there that I had to write, I think. But there--wasn't any reply, so I
sort of thought perhaps----"
He halted lamely, but his meaning was plain enough. Caleb faced about
abruptly, his face sternly accusing.
"Do you mean to hint that you ever dared believe we didn't want----"
and there Sarah stopped him with an capable nod of her head.
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