Again the strong man, with tears streaming down his face, strained the boy to his heart. “Thank you, Dannie,--thank you! And God speed the day of reconciliation. Good-by again, my boy,--good-by!” Once more he released him, and Dannie hurried back to where his grandfather stood on the steps, fearful lest the old man might think that, after all, he had chosen to desert him. But the grim smile of triumph on Abner Pickett’s face as they passed down the staircase and out to the court-house porch, told of the satisfaction that reigned in his heart over the victory he had won, and over the fact that the boy was to be his and his alone, for years to come. He stopped to button Dannie’s great-coat, and tie wraps about his throat and ears, and then they started out together into the snow-bound world, pushing their way through the drifts that blocked the path to the street; while Charlie Pickett, looking from an upper window, with tear-blurred eyes, watched them out of sight. CHAPTER IX Long after his father and his son had vanished from sight between the great snow ridges that lined the street, Charlie Pickett stood at the window of the jury room, looking out upon the wide, white landscape, thinking of the days gone by, of the day just passed, of the days he still hoped might come in the future. Some one touched him gently on the shoulder. He turned and saw that it was Gabriel, and reached out to him a welcoming hand. “I’m glad to see you, Gabriel,” he said. “I’ve been trying to get a chance to speak to you ever since you’ve been here. I’ve been wanting to ask you about Dannie, and about Father, and Aunt Martha, and yourself, and about the old place. It’s been a hard day for me, Gabriel.” “The’ ain’t no doubt o’ that, Char--Mr. Pickett, I mean.” “No, not Mr. Pickett. I’m always Charlie to you, you know. We’ve worked and tramped and hunted and fished together too often for any formality of that kind, Gabriel. But I am glad to see you. Here, sit down. Tell me about Dannie. I’ve just given him up to Father. I had a right to take him, Gabriel; I wanted to take him; but I knew it would break Father’s heart, and I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t do it.” “Well,” replied Gabriel, slowly, “I ain’t got nothin’ to say aginst Abner Pickett. He’s treated me like a white man fer eighteen year an’ up’ards; but ef I had a son like you, an’ a gran’son like Dannie Pickett, I’ll be everlastin’ly gee-hawed ef I wouldn’t git down off’n my high hoss once’t in a w’ile, say once’t in a year to start on, an’ treat ’em both like human bein’s. Not to say but w’at he’s good to Dannie. W’y good ain’t no name fer it. They ain’t nothin’ he wouldn’t do fer that boy, nothin’--excep’ to let ’im hev the benefit uv a father.” “And is Dannie equally fond of him?” “Sure. They’re jes’ like twins, them two is. W’enever an’ w’erever you see one uv ’em, you’re jes’ nat’ally bound to see t’other.”