"Duke was responsible for that," Darrell answered, with a smiling glance

at the collie who had stationed himself by the fire and near Mr.

Britton; "he challenged me to wrestle with him, and got rather the worst

of it."

A moment later, having divested himself of his great coat, he drew a

second seat before the fire, saying,-"You evidently knew where to look for me?"

"Yes, your last letter, which, by the way, followed me for nearly six

weeks before reaching me, apprised me of your return to the camp. I was

somewhat surprised, too, after you had established yourself so well in

town."

"It was best for me--and for others," Darrell answered; then, noting the

inquiry in his friend's eyes, he added: "It is a long story, but it will keep; there will be plenty of time for

that later. Tell me of yourself first. For two months I have hungered

for word from you, and now I simply want to listen to you a while."

Mr. Britton smiled. "I owe you an apology, but you know I am a poor

correspondent at best, and of late business has called me here and there

until I scarcely knew one day where I would be the next; consequently I

have received my mail irregularly and have been irregular myself in

writing."

Darrell's face grew tender, for he knew it was not business alone which

drove his friend from place to place, but the old pain which found

relief only in ceaseless activity and an equally unceasing beneficence.

He well knew that many of his friend's journeys were purely of a

philanthropic nature, and he remarked, with a peculiar smile,-"Your travels always remind me very forcibly of the journey of the good

Samaritan; when he met a case of suffering on the way he was not the one

to 'pass by on the other side;' nor are you."

"Perhaps," said Mr. Britton, gravely, "he had found, as others have

since, that pouring oil and wine into his neighbor's wounds was the

surest method of assuaging the pain in some secret wound of his own."

Darrell watched his friend closely while he gave a brief account of his

recent journeys along the western coast. Never before had he seen the

lines of suffering so marked upon the face beside him as that night.

Something evidently had reopened the old wound, causing it to throb

anew.

"I need not ask what has brought you back into the mountains at this

time of year and in this storm," Darrell remarked, as his friend

concluded.

For answer Mr. Britton drew from his pocket an envelope which Darrell

at once recognized as a counterpart of one which had come to him some

weeks before, but which he had laid away unopened, knowing only too well

its contents.




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