And, with the thought, Old Crow seemed to be, not on the hillside, but beside him, reading to him the testimony of the mottled book, but more insistently, in a clearer voice. If it could be so, if God had intention, not only toward his own colossal inventiveness, but as touching the well-being of man--yes, and of the other creatures, too, the pathetically oppressing and oppressed--if He had given man the problem with no solution indicated, to work it out as he had worked out pottery and fabrics, and light and talking over space--always in conformity to law--it was stupendous. No matter how many million men went to the building of the safeguarding reefs, no matter through what blood and tears the garden of the earth was watered if the flower of faith could grow at last. "That is my legacy to the boy," he seemed to hear Old Crow repeating. "He must not be afraid." And as he was sinking off to sleep he had an idea he was praying, perhaps to God; or was it to Old Crow? At any rate, he was saying: "For God's sake look out for Nan. You don't need to make it so devilish hard for Nan." He was downstairs early. At the foot of the stairs stood Charlotte, waiting. She looked--what? compassionate? "She's gone," said Charlotte. "Jerry was up 'fore light." "Gone?" echoed Raven. "At this time of day? What for? She'll have an hour to wait." "She would have it so," said Charlotte. "She was terrible anxious to git off." So, Raven thought, she didn't want to see either of them. She was tired of them, of him with his stiff withdrawals and Dick's young puppyhood. He ran upstairs, snatched some old riding breeches out of a closet, put them on and, without a word to Charlotte, went to the barn. But her eye was on him and she called out of the shed door: "You took your saddle with you. Don't you know you did? There's nothin' but your father's hangin' there, old as the hills." Raven did not answer, or even turn his head. He went into the harness room, found the old saddle hanging in its place, led out Nellie, surprised at being expected to leave her oats, saddled her and rode away. He was angry, with Nan, with all the childish trouble of the business, and--as two neighbors agreed, seeing him gallop past--rode like the devil, yet not coming upon Nan and Jerry until they were at the station platform. Nan saw him first. She was gloriously glad, waving her hand and laughing out. Jerry stood with mouth open, silent but incurious, and Raven dismounted and threw him the reins. "Hitch her behind," he said. "I'll go back with you. Got something extra to blanket her?" He came up to Nan, and they took hands and went into the waiting room together. It was steaming hot from the monster stove and they retreated again to the platform. "Come out and walk," said Raven, "up to Pine Grove. You've got an hour, you little simpleton. What did you run away for?"