"All right--I'm a-comin'," declared Jephthah, then, with the door in his hand, turned back, meaning to finish what had been in his mind to say to Creed. Jephthah Turrentine was himself that day a bridegroom, wedded to the one love of his life; he appreciated to the full that which had come to Creed. He had thought to say to the boy that now was the opening of great things, to remind him that one must first live man's natural life, must prove himself as son, brother, husband, father, and neighbour, before he will be accepted or efficient in the larger calling. He would have said that life must teach the man before the man could teach his fellows. But the words of homely wisdom in which he would have clothed this truth remained unspoken. He glanced back and saw the dark head bent close above the yellow one, as Judith performed some little service for Creed. The girl's rich brown beauty glowed and bloomed before the steady, blue fire of her lover's eyes. She set down her tumbler and knelt beside him. Their lips were murmuring, they had forgotten all the world save themselves and their love. Jephthah looked at the rapt young faces; these two were on the mount of transfiguration; the light ineffable was all about them. "Lord, what's the use of a old fool like me sayin' I, ay, yes or no to sech a pair as that?" he whispered as he went out softly and closed the door.