Dinner was promptly ready, and, after it was over, the Sun Maid carried her old friend away with her to the government building, which was not only hospital, but schoolhouse and land-office all in one. Everything here was so new and interesting to Mercy that surprise kept her silent; until, happening to glance through the window, she beheld a rough-looking man approaching on horseback. "Pshaw! there's Abel! Wait an' see him stick where I stuck!" she chuckled. "Well, he sold out sudden, didn't he? He'd better come in the wagon, but he 'lowed he'd enjoy a ride all by himself. I reckon he's had it. See him stare and splash! There he goes! See that old nag flounder!" Kitty sprang up and ran to welcome him, the heartiest of love in her clear tones. "Why, bless my soul! If I thought it could be, I should say it was my own lost little Kit!" As he gazed his rugged face grew beautiful in its wondering joy. "Oh, Abel! That's the way Chicago receives her new citizens! She plants them so deep in the mud that they can't get away! But wait. I'll help you out the same way I did Mercy, and then I'll get my arms about your neck, you dear old Abel!" "Help me out? Not much! Not when there's such a pretty girl a few feet away waitin' to kiss my homely face!" and, with a spring that was marvellous to see, the woodsman leaped from his horse and landed on the higher sod beside his "Kit." "Well, well! To think it! Just to think it once! Well, well, well! How big you are, Kit! My, my, my; and as sweet to look at as a locust tree in bloom, with your white frock, an' all. I've got here at last! I can't scarce believe it. And, lassie, are you as close-mouthed as you used to be when you made a promise? Then--don't tell Mercy; but--_I done it a-purpose_!" "Did what? Let us get the poor horse out of the mud before we talk." "Shucks! He ain't worth pullin' out. If he ain't horse enough to help himself, let him stay there a spell, an' think it over. He'll flounder round----" "You don't know our mud, Abel." "He's all right. He's helpin' himself. He's makin' a genu_ine_ effort. A man--or horse--that does that is sure to win. That's how I put it to myself. After I'd wrastled with the subject up hill an' down dale, till I couldn't see nothin' else in the face of natur', I done it. Out in the East, where I come from, they'd 'a' had me up for it; an' I don't know but they will here. But I had to, Kit, I had to. I was dead sick an' starvin' for a sight of you an' the boy, an' mis'able with blamin' myself that I hadn't treated you different when I had you, so you wouldn't have run away. You was a master hand at that business, wasn't you, girl? I hope you've quit now, though." "I think so. Here I was born, and here I hope to stay. All my runnings have begun and ended here. But what did you do, Father Abel?" "Oh, Sis! that name does me good. Promise you'll never tell,--not till your dyin' day." "I can't promise that; but I'll not tell if I can help it."