“Mr. Knapp!” cried the maid, and was away on swift feet, for Garry had endeared himself to the serving people as well as to the family during his brief stay at The Cedars. The young man threw aside his outer clothing in haste and ran upstairs to the major’s room. Dorothy’s father had got up in his excitement and was waiting for him with eager eyes. “Garry! Garry Knapp!” he exclaimed. “What has happened? What has brought you back here, my dear boy?” Garry was smiling, but it was a grave smile. Indeed, something dwelt in the young man’s eyes that the major had never seen before. “What is it?” repeated the old gentleman, as he seized Garry’s hand. “Major, I’ve come to ask a favor,” blurted out the Westerner. “A favor—and at last?” cried Major Dale. “It is granted.” “Wait till you hear what it is—all of it. First I want you to call our bargain off.” “What? You don’t want to sell your ranch?” gasped the major. “No, sir. Things have—well, have changed a bit. My ranch is something that I must not sell, for I can see a way now to work it myself.” “You can, my boy? You can develop it? Then the bargain’s off!” cried the major. “I only want to see you successful.” “Thank you, sir. You are more than kind—kinder than I have any reason to expect. And I presume you think me a fellow of fluctuating intentions, eh?” and he laughed shortly. “I am waiting to hear about that, Garry,” said the major, eyeing him intently. With a thrill in his voice that meant joy, yet with eyes that were frankly bedimmed with tears, Garry Knapp put a paper into Major Dale’s hand, saying: “Read that, Major,—read that and tell me what you think of it.” CHAPTER XXX SO IT WAS ALL SETTLED “What’s this—what’s this, my boy?” cried the major hastily adjusting his reading glasses. “A telegram? And from the West, eh?” “A night letter from Bob Douglas. I got it yesterday morning. I’ve been all this time getting here, Major. Believe me! the railroads are badly blocked.” Major Dale was reading the telegram. His face flushed and his eyes brightened as he read. “This is authentic, Garry?” he finally asked, with shaking voice. “Sure. I know Bob Douglas—and Gibson, the lawyer, too. Gibson has been in touch with the poor old man all the time. I expect Uncle Terry must have left the will and all his papers with Gibson when he hiked out for Alaska. Poor, poor old man! He’s gone without my ever having seen him again.” Garry’s voice was broken and he turned to look out of the window. “Not your fault, my boy,” said the major, clearing his throat. “No, sir. But my misfortune. I know now that the old man loved me or he would not have made me rich in the end.” Major Dale was reading the long telegram again. “Your friend, Mr. Douglas, repeats a phrase of the will, it is evident,” he said softly. “Your uncle says you are to have his money ‘because you are too honest to ever make any for yourself.’ Do you believe that, Garry?” and his eyes suddenly twinkled.