Only pork, white, firm, sweet as a nut, crisply and amiably sharing the same small frying pan with the sliced potatoes! Hot “corn-dodger” and hotter coffee! But oh, beyond these comforts there was a look in the wife’s hazel eyes, a clear, bright, straight look that shook his very heart--it was so like the good days of the past! When supper was over, and “Watch” was carefully separating his bits of corn-bread with gravy on them from those bits which had none, and after the manner of his race, eating the best portions first, Mrs. Tyler came to her husband and put one arm about his neck, while with the other she closely cuddled the baby to her side. As John stood looking down on them, he felt it was for him a blessed sight, and bent to kiss her; but she avoided the caress, and hiding her face on his breast, she made a full confession. Perhaps it was as well that she could not see the pallor of his face as she told of the hours the baby lay abandoned in the woods, nor the drops of perspiration on his brow as she described the bear in the thicket and old, black “Watch’s” furious defence of the helpless little one. The silence that followed her plea for forgiveness was for a few moments broken only by “Watch.” He had sat bolt upright before them, watching their faces closely with his honest, brown eyes, and now he sniffed and snuffled, as though on the verge of tears, while with persuasive tail he rapped on the bare floor so loudly that one might have mistaken the noise for the nailing down of a carpet. John raised his big, rough hand and smoothed his wife’s hair. The clumsy strokes were given the wrong way, and each one pulled harder and tangled worse, until her brown locks were full of what the children would have called “rats’ nests.” But the awkward caress was sweet to her, as precious as it was rare. Then he said slowly: “Never do it again, Betsey! No! no! I don’t mean that! I mean never worry all alone again. If you are anxious and troubled about the farm, money, or anything else, for God’s sake, tell me all about it, and let me share the worry!” and he kissed her, and then looking down on “Watch,” he said, gently: “Thank you, old man.” And then I think he did a curious thing, for you must remember “Watch” was simply a farm dog who had never been taught one single trick in all his life. Yet now, when he thanked him, John Tyler offered him his hand. “Watch,” embarrassed and confused, lifted and lowered his good ear rapidly, glanced at the hand, then at his master’s face, half-lifted his left foot, dropped it again, and suddenly raising his right, laid the black paw firmly in the extended hand, and gravely, unsmilingly, John Tyler held it a moment and repeated: “Thank you, old man.” Ten minutes later the wooden bar was across the door, the candle was extinguished, and darkness, silence and peace descended upon the little, back-wood home.