In the end their efforts were rewarded. Slowly but surely their patient retraced his steps over the shadow trail and began his climb to health and when the day came that he was well enough to leave them, they knew no more of him than on the night Grahame had carried his unconscious form into his house. Beyond the fact that he had been in the country only a little time, their knowledge was limited to the scant gleanings of their observations, and they were limited enough. Speaking only in answer to their questions, and then in as few words as was possible, he had invited no confidences and had given none. When he left, he thanked Grahame with a nod of the head and turned to Jane. They both thought for a moment that he was going to say something, for the merest trace of an expression came to his eyes, but neither were able to read the message they carried. It seemed that the tortured muscles of his face and eyelids were incapable of transmitting whatever went on behind them. Turning abruptly, he stepped into his sleigh and rode away. Grahame’s face grew hard and angry. “Talk about gratitude, there isn’t even decency in his make-up!” Jane, with instinct guided by a woman’s intuition, felt vaguely that her patient had tried to express a feeling of some kind. Why he had failed she could not understand, but she answered John’s angry criticism quietly: “I am sure that is untrue, John. There is something we don’t understand.” And as she saw John about to make another angry rejoinder: “John, it isn’t worth our quarreling about. He is gone at any rate, and we have done our duty. You know Mother would say that is all we should think of, anyway--‘a sense of duty well done.’” “Mighty poor reward, I should call that. What are you trying to do? Make yourself out as sort of a saint?” “No, John. But there is no need for you to be plain cross, is there? The first minute we are alone, too! I’ll wish him back again if you keep this up.” “Jane, for heaven’s sake don’t wish that on us. I didn’t mean to be cross. Come on out to the barn with me and have a look-see at the new little bossies.” “I’ll do it. I haven’t been out there for ages, seems to me.” But the story went the round of the neighborhood that they had been offered neither pay nor thanks for their care, and from then on the name of Ironheart was used to the exclusion of any other. The name of Fred Kinear was nearly forgotten. * * * * *