Heald laughed. “The grub’s so good, Uncle Bill, that if there’s any way on earth to eat more of it, I’ll come back. But I’ve got to go to-night, and be in Placerville to-morrow. Can’t loaf forever, can I?” “Nope,” the old man reluctantly admitted, “I reckon you cain’t. It’s when a man is young that he orter be up and movin’. But--by heck!--I’m goin’ ter miss you--I am.” His good will still sounded in their ears when they took the trail; but the partners found Heald strangely disinclined for conversation as they threaded their way over the crests of hills, where all was bright and clear, and then descended into the shadows of the great trees where the paths were dim. It was not until, tired and glad to be in their cabin again, they reached home that the partners learned the results of Heald’s mission. The lamp on the table shielded their faces as they sat on the edges of their bunks, and unlaced their boots preparatory to going to bed. Outside, through the open door the moon still shone, and the trees stood quietly as if asleep. The silences of the open spaces surrounded them--the stillness that pervades untrammeled spots, and corners where all is clean and undefiled. Heald spoke as if impressed with all this, as if he had newly learned a great reverence. “I’ve found it out! I’ve caught it,” he said. “I knew it would reach me some time, this thing that’s bigger than all else a man may ever learn--the love that passeth understanding. I’ve been blind. Most of us are. Uncle Bill has caught the truth.” He came across and lifted the shade from the lamp, as if to see the partners’ faces while he talked. He bent over the crude pine table and rested his shoulder weight on the underturned knuckles of his hands, bent forward, staring at them as if challenging dispute. A great respect was in his voice, a softness of finality when he went on. “Uncle Bill has seen things that are given to but few. He has seen that all else save the love of an invisible but understandable God is worthless; that a man may pile up gold; may achieve ambitions; may lift himself to temporary power, and yet have failed if there is not one place that is all his intimate own. He has found it. It’s his! It shall stay his so long as he lives, by God! Or else I, too, have failed!” He lifted his right hand, clenched it into a driving fist, and brought it smashing down upon the table top. David and Goliath started from their seats, wondering. As if their start of surprise had rendered him conscious of his vehemence, Heald paused, swallowed as if choking back unpent emotions, straightened and looked away. As if embarrassed he said, “I’m sort of upset! I’ve thought so much. I’ve learned so much, from Uncle Bill.” As if by pretext, that he might resume the normal, he walked across to his coat that he had hung upon a peg, took some papers therefrom, scanned them, and, when he spoke again, his voice was placid and undisturbed.