My father's old sword hung over the fireplace, and I saw his glance wander toward it, as something seemed to rise choking in his throat. He was always a man who felt deeply, yet said but little; and we both knew he was thinking about the old days and the strong ties of comradeship. The stranger struck flint and steel to light his pipe; the act instantly recalled my father to the demands of hospitality. "Friend," he said, speaking firmly, "hitch to the stump yonder, and come in. You have brought me sad news enough, yet are no less welcome, and must break bread at our board. John," and he turned toward me, "see to friend Burns's horse, and help your mother to prepare the dinner." Out in the rude shed, which, answered as a kitchen during summer weather, I ventured to ask: "Mother, do you suppose he will take the little girl?" "I hope so, John," she answered, soberly; "but your father must decide himself. He will not tell us until he has thought it all out alone." CHAPTER II THE CALL OF DUTY It was upon my mind all through that long afternoon, as I swung the scythe in the meadow grass. I saw Burns ride away up the river trail soon after I returned to work, and wondered if he bore with him any message from my father. It was like a romance to me, to whom so few important things had ever happened. In some way, the coming of this letter out of the great unknown had lifted me above the narrow life of the clearing. My world had always been so small, such a petty and restricted circle, that this new interest coming within its horizon had widened it wonderfully.