collar. Douglas put his hand on his father's arm.

"Drop it, Dad, or I swear I'll think old Johnny is a better man than you.
I asked him to tell. Throw me out if you want to. Keep your hands off
this little chap. One thing is sure. He appreciates Mother more than any
of the rest of us have."

"Get the half-wit out of my sight, then," growled John, returning to his
seat.

"I wish a lot of folks with whole wits knew how to be as good a friend as
Johnny," said Douglas stoutly.

"So do I!" Mary's voice trembled, but her glance at the little old man
was very lovely.

The rest of the meal was finished in silence, Douglas turning over in
his mind this strange new picture of Judith's mother. Could anything,
he wondered, change Judith so? A curious anger against his father's
stupidity was at that moment born in Douglas' heart, an anger that never
was wholly to leave him.

That evening, as Douglas sat in his favorite place beside the alfalfa
stack, old Johnny led up his little gray mare.

"I'll be cowling myself along home now, Doug," he said. "John is awful
insidious to me. I just want to say, Doug, that you're the first man in
this valley ever stuck up for me and some day I depone I'll get even
with you."