o the
correspondence, too, for my head and hands are all right. I know I am as
helpless as a baby yet, but if you'll just stand by me, and keep up that
treatment, and help me get my strength back, I'll make good, some way or
another, just as well as Aldebaran did. By the bloodstone on my
watch-fob!" he added, laughingly. "How is that for a fine swear?"

The old hopeful note in his voice made his helplessness more pathetic
than ever to Mary, but she answered gaily, "You know I'll stand by you
till 'the last cock crows and the last trump blows!' _You_ didn't have
to be born in Mars month to make undaunted courage the jewel of your
soul."

Perched on the arm of his chair she sat watching the red star for a
moment, thinking of the events which had led to his resolution. "It's
queer, isn't it," she said aloud. "I almost drove Norman away this
afternoon with his beast and his train of little Mexicans. I was so out
of patience with him for bringing them here. But how is one to know an
Opportunity when it comes in a chicken-coop disguised as a Wild-cat?"

CHAPTER XV

KEEPING TRYST

An hundred times that summer, Jack made the story of Aldebaran his own.
He had his rare, exalted moments, when all things seemed possible; when
despite his helpless body his spirit walked erect, and faced his future
for the time undaunted. He had his daily struggle with the host of hurts
which cut him to the quick, the reminders of his thwarted hopes and
foiled ambitions. Then, too, there were times when the only way he could
keep up his courage was to repeat grimly through set teeth, "Tis only
one hour at a time that I am called on to endure. By the bloodstone that
is my birthright, I'll keep my oath until the going down of one more
sun." Before the summer was over it came to pass that more than one
soul, given fresh courage by his brave example, looked upon him as the
villagers had upon Aldebaran: "A poor, maimed creature in his outward
seeming, and yet so blithely does he bear his lot it seems a kingly
spirit dwells among us."

Mary's letters to Joyce began to take on a cheerful tone that was vastly
encouraging to the toiler in the studio.

"We have revised Emerson," she wrote one July morning. "It is fully as
true to say, 'If one can make a better garden, show a bigger circus or
put up a more cheerful front to Fate than his neighbours, though he
build his house in Lone-Rock, the world will make a beaten track to his
door.' The pa