"Doris," he turned to the couch, "I must go out West." She understood. Martin never spoke openly about his family affairs. Until he was surer of that nephew of his he kept him in the background. "Yes, David." Doris smiled up at him. "I want you to promise me that you will take more exercise!" Martin said. "Why, certainly, David, but I thought you wanted me to--to rest." "I do--but you are rested. I do not want you to enjoy resting. It's dangerous." "Oh! bully for you, Uncle David," Joan broke in, delightedly, "Aunt Dorrie is just plain flopping and Nan and Mary are abetting her." For some reason Martin turned to Joan, not Nancy who was standing patiently by. "Joan, get your aunt on horseback--lead up to it, of course--and go slow." "But--Uncle David----" Nancy drew near. Her kingdom was threatened. "My dear," Martin always melted to Nancy, "after Joan gets her on horseback, _you_ ride with her." And so Doris got off her couch, rather dazedly, as one thinking his legs have been shot off finds them still attached to him. She had been actually letting go! She, of all people, and just when there was so much to do--so long as she had strength to do it! It was December when Martin started for the West and Joan's restlessness gained power. Christmas rather eased the situation, for with it Father Noble appeared. He startled Doris as Uncle Jed had, by his persistence. "They cannot be as old as they look," she concluded, and gladly entered into all the plans for carrying sunshine and joy into the deep places of the hills. "Dear me, dear me!" explained Father Noble, whose memory of her was so blurred that Doris did not venture to refer to it in detail; "I thought when the Sisters went away this beautiful old house would fall into disuse. It is a great happiness to feel its welcome once more." Then the old man raised his hat from his silvered head and, standing so in the doorway, besought a blessing "on them who waited but to do His will." Joan and Nancy rode with him back into the clearings; they revelled in it all and carried out every suggestion offered. They learned, through Father Noble's interpretation, to ignore the stolid indifference of the people; they played for, not with, the shy children, and distributed marvellous toys that were limply held in small hands that were yet to learn the blessed sense of ownership. "When you are gone," Father Noble explained and chuckled delightedly, "they will watch the trails for your coming back. They never forget; they are worth the saving--but one must have faith and patience." Then January settled down in The Gap. The short days were full of clouds and shadows; the river ran sullenly, and with greater need for sympathy Joan made ready to demolish Nancy's toys. She came into the living room one morning in her riding togs. She was splashed with mud and her face was dull except for the wide, burning eyes.