Judy went on: “Hit looks ter me like somebody just naturally's got ter take care of Auntie Sue, Mr. Burns. All her whole life she's a-been takin' care of everybody just like she tuck me, an' just like she tuck you-all, besides a heap of other ways; an' now she's so old and mighty nigh plumb wore out, hit sure looks like hit was time somebody was a-fixin' ter do somethin' for her. That was what I was a-huntin' you-all ter tell you when pap ketched me, Mr. Burns.” “I am glad you told me, Judy;--very glad. You see, I was not thinking of things in just that way.” “I 'lowed maybe you mightn't. Seems like folks mostly don't.” “But it's all right, now!” Brian cried heartily. “You have settled it. I'll stay. We'll take care of Auntie Sue,--you and I, Judy. Come on, now; let's go to the house, and tell her. But we won't say anything about your father, Judy;--that would only make her unhappy; and we must never make Auntie Sue unhappy--never.” He was as eager and enthusiastic, now, as a schoolboy. “'Course,” said Judy, solemnly; “'course you just naturally got ter stay an' take care of her now, after what pap's done said he'd do.” “Yes, Judy; I've just naturally got to stay,” returned Brian. Together they went down the steep cliff trail and to the little log house by the river to announce Brian's decision to Auntie Sue. They found the dear old lady in her favorite spot on the porch overlooking the river. “Why, of course you will stay,” she returned, when Brian had told her. “The river brought you to me, and you know, my dear boy, the river is never wrong. Oh, yes, I know there are cross-currents and crooked spots and sand-bars and rocks and lots of places where it SEEMS to us to be wrong. But, just the same, it all goes on, all the time, toward the sea for which it starts when it first begins at some little spring away over there somewhere in the mountains. Of course you will stay with me, Brian,--until the river carries you on again.” CHAPTER XI. RE-CREATION. From the very day of his decision, to which he had been so unexpectedly helped by Judy, Brian Kent was another man. The gloomy, despondent, undecided spirit that was the successor of the wretched creature that Judy had helped to Auntie Sue's that morning was now succeeded by a cheerful, hopeful, contented man, who went to his daily task with a song, did his work with a smile and a merry jest, and returned, when the day was done, with peace in his heart and laughter on his lips.