many of later construction, that it was placed well away

And as, saddle on shoulder, he stood on the weighing-scales and caught sight of the oncoming hosts of "Cottonton" and read what the girl's eyes held, then, indeed, he knew all that his finish had earned him-- the beginning of a new life with a new name; the beginning of one that the lesson he had learned, backed by the great love that had come to him, would make--paradise. And his one unuttered prayer was: "Dear God, make me worthy, make me worthy of them--all!"

Aftermath was a blur to "Garrison." Great happiness can obscure, befog like great sorrow. And there are some things that touch the heart too vitally to admit of analyzation. But long afterward, when time, mighty adjuster of the human soul, had given to events their true proportions, that meeting with "Cottonton" loomed up in all its greatness, all its infinite appeal to the emotions, all its appeal to what is highest and worthiest in man. In silence, before all that little world, Sue Desha had put her arms about his neck. In silence he had clasped the major's hand. In silence he had turned to his aunt; and what he read in her misty eyes, read in the eyes of all, even the shrewd, kindly eyes of Drake the Silent and in the slap from his congratulatory paw, was all that man could ask; more than man could deserve.

Afterward the entire party, including Jimmie Drake, who was regarded as the grand master of Cottonton by this time, took train for New York. Regarding the environment, it was somewhat like a former ride "Garrison" had taken; regarding the atmosphere, it was as different as hope from despair. Now Sue was seated by his side, her eyes never once leaving his face. She was not ordinarily one to whom words were ungenerous, but now she could not talk. She could only look and look, as if her happiness would vanish before his eyes. "Garrison" was thinking, thinking of many things. Somehow, words were unkind to him, too; somehow, they seemed quite unnecessary.

"Do you remember this time a year ago?" he asked gravely at length. "It was the first time I saw you. Then it was purgatory to exist, now it is heaven to live. It must be a dream. Why is it that those who deserve least, invariably are given most? Is it the charity of Heaven, or--what?" He turned and looked into her eyes. She smuggled her hand across to his.

"You," she exclaimed, a caressing, indolent inflection in her soft voice. "You." That "you" is a peculiar characteristic caress of the Southerner. Its meaning is infinite. "I'm too happy to analyze," she confided, her eyes growing dark. "And it is not the charity of Heaven, but the charity of--man."

"You mustn't say that," he whispered. "It is you, not me. It is you who are all and I nothing. It is you."

She shook her head, smiling. There was an air of seductive luxury about her. She kept her eyes unwaveringly on his. "You," she said again.

"And there's old Jimmie Drake," added "Garrison" musingly, at length, a light in his eyes. He nodded up the aisle where the turfman was entertaining the major and his wife. "There's a man, Sue, dear. A man whose friendship is not a thing of condition nor circumstance. I will always strive to earn, keep it as I will strive to be worthy of your love. I know what it cost Drake to scratch Speedaway. I will not, cannot forget. We owe everything to him, dear; everything."