“Who are you?” he demanded. “Tell me your name, quick!” That imperative request gave room for no evasion. There could be but one reply. “I’m Abner Pickett’s grandson,” faltered the boy. “My name is Dannie Pickett.” The man loosed his grip on the lad’s shoulders and took his hands instead. Dannie felt those clear blue eyes piercing him through and through. For a full minute they stood thus, then the grasp was relaxed, the man turned his face upward in the moonlight, and it seemed as if he were in prayer. When Dannie saw his eyes again they were full of tears; but there was a smile on his countenance, and, when he spoke, his voice was very sweet and gentle. “Do not mind me,” he said. “I have a boy whom I have not seen since he was a little baby. You must be about his age. I think you must look very much like him. Strangest of all, his name, too, is Dannie. Come, let us go. It will soon be daylight. See the red in the east. I must find my men, and you must get to your home.” He took the boy’s hand and they started on. But Dannie’s heart was beating to the music of this man’s voice, and, swayed by the spell of his presence, he felt that to him must be told the secret of his midnight errand in the glen. “I want to tell you,” he said, “what I was doing in the gap to-night. I feel as though you ought to know.” “No,” was the quick reply; “you need not confide in me. I cannot counsel you now. Others must do that yet for a time. I only trust that your errand was one of which you need not be ashamed. Do I walk too fast for you? There is so little time to lose.” When they came opposite the marble column that marked the grave of Dannie’s mother, they stopped instinctively. “This is Gran’pap’s graveyard,” said the boy, simply, “and that is where my mother is buried.” The man did not answer. He had removed his hat and stood gazing intently at the white shaft and at the vine-covered mound at its base. For a full minute he stood there, motionless as the monument itself. Then he turned to the boy. “Let the thought of her be as dear and sweet to you always as your own life,” he said. “Come!” With Dannie’s hand still in his, he hastened on. The other members of the party were far ahead. The morning glow was spreading in the east, and in the west the paling moon was dropping down behind the far-off hills. The autumn mist came up and compassed them about, and now and then some sound betokening daybreak came muffled to their ears. On the souls of both the solemn hush of morning rested, and neither of them broke it by a single word. When the gate that led to the Pickett farmhouse was reached, they both stopped. Again the man bared his head as he gazed through the morning mist at the dim outline of the old homestead. Then he bent down and took Dannie’s face between his hands, and touched the tangled hair on the boy’s forehead with his lips. “Good-by!” he said. “Good-by, my boy; and God bless you and keep you!” [Illustration: “‘Good-by, my boy!’”]