An old man! The words startled Bruce--shocked him. He never had thought of his father as old, or lonely, but always as tireless, self-centred, self-sufficient, absorbed heart and soul in getting rich. He seemed suddenly to see the bent shoulders, the graying hair and eyebrows, the furrows and deep, drooping lines about the mouth that had not been engraved by happiness. There was something forlorn, pathetic about him as he stood there with his hand out asking for forgiveness. And he had plodded through the snow--twenty miles--on foot to see him! The blood that is thicker than water stirred, and the tugging at his heart strings grew too hard to withstand. He unfolded his arms and stretched out a hand impulsively--"Father!" Then both--"Dad!" he cried. "My boy!" There was a catch in the old man's voice, misty eyes looked into misty eyes and fifteen years of bitterness vanished as father and son clasped hands. When Burt could speak he looked at Bruce quizzically and said, "I thought you'd be married by this time, Bruce." "Married! What right has a Failure to get married?" "That's no way to talk. What's one slip-up, or two, or three? Nobody's a failure till he's dead. Confidence comes from success, but, let me tell you, boy, practical knowledge comes from jolts." "Dog-gone! I ought to be awful wise," Bruce answered ironically. "Yes," sobering. "I've learned something--I'm not liable to make the same mistake twice." He added ruefully: "Nor, by the same token, am I likely to have the chance. I suppose I've got the reputation of being something midway between an idiot and a thief." Burt seemed to consider. "Well, now, I can't recall that the person who engineered this trip for me used any such names as that. As near as I could make out she was somewhat prejudiced on your side." Bruce stared. "She? Not 'Ma' Snow!" Burt's eyes twinkled as he shook his head. "No," drily, "not 'Ma' Snow. She's an estimable lady but I doubt if she could talk me into comin' on a tour like this in winter." A wonderful light dawned suddenly in Bruce's eyes. "You mean--" "--Helen. I'm feelin' well enough acquainted with her now to call her Helen. Whatever else we disagree on, Bruce, it looks as though we had the same taste when it comes to girls." "You _know_ her?" Bruce's tone was as incredulous as his face. Burt answered with a wry smile: "After you've ridden on the back seat of that Beaver Creek stage with a person and bumped heads every fifteen feet for a hundred miles, you're not apt to feel like strangers when you get in." Bruce almost shouted-- "She's in Ore City!" "She _was_." Bruce fell back into his old attitude at the table, but his father stepped quickly to the door and an instant later threw it open. At his side was Helen--with outstretched arms and face aglow, her eyes shining happily. Bruce had not known that great and sudden joy could make a person dizzy, but the walls, the floor, everything, seemed to waver as he leaped to his feet.