enuine explosions. He
tapped with his feet; rapped with his cane; shook his finger; and
fidgeted in his chair. "We want you back, Daniel. I want you.
Church will want you when they know; looking for a preacher right
now. I come after you, Daniel. Blast it all, I'll tell Sarah and
the girls, and they'll come after you, too. Chicago will go wild
when they know that Daniel Howitt Cha--"

"Stop!" The doctor bounced out of his chair. The shepherd was
trembling, and his voice shook with emotion. "Forgive me, David.
But that name must never be spoken again, never. My son is dead,
and that name died with him. It must be forgotten."

The physician noted his friend's agitation in amazement. "There,
there, Daniel. I didn't mean to. Thought it didn't matter when we
were alone. I--I--Blast it all! Tell me Daniel, what do you mean
by this strange business, this very strange business?"

A look of mingled affection, regret and pain, came into the
shepherd's face, as he replied, "Let me tell you the story, David,
and you will understand."

When he had finished, Mr. Howitt asked gently, "Have I not done
right, David? The boy is gone. It was hard, going as he did. But I
am glad, now, for Old Matt would have killed him, as he would kill
me yet, if he knew. Thank God, we have not also made the father a
murderer. Did I not say rightly, that the old name died with
Howard? Have I not done well to stay on this spot and to give my
life to this people?"

"Quite right, Daniel; quite right. You always are. It's me that
goes wrong; blundering, bumping, smashing into things. Blast it
all! I--I don't know what to say. B--B--Blast it all!"

The hour was late when the two men finally retired for the night.
Long after his heavy, regular breathing announced that the doctor
was sleeping soundly, the shepherd lay wide awake, keenly
sensitive to every sound that stirred in the forest. Once he arose
from his bed, and stepping softly left the cabin, to stand under
the stars, his face lifted to the dark summit of Old Dewey and the
hills that rimmed the Hollow. And once, when the first light of
day came over the ridges, he went to the bunk where his friend
lay, to look thoughtfully down upon the sleeping man.

Breakfast was nearly ready when Dr. Coughlan awoke. The physician
saw at once by the worn and haggard look on his friend's face that
his had been a sleepless night. It was as though all the pain and
trouble of the old days had returned. The littl