“Could if I tried. Didn’t try.” “Good night, Pa McBirney.” “Good night, daughter.” It was the first time he ever had called her that. She slipped over and bending above him, dropped a kiss on his brow as he sat there in the open room—the queer two-sided chamber that divided the closed rooms of the house. “I reckon I’d better go to your room with you,” said Ma McBirney, “and see you safe.” So together they climbed the rude stairs to that cotelike chamber that looked out on the transfigured mountain. All about them, save for the throating of the mocking bird, was silence. And in silence the two parted for the night. They had no need of words. Stronger than any mere accident of relationship was the love and trust in their hearts. * * * * * THE END.