the forest trail grubbed out--for me. It appears that the Valley is
going to be a public park, after all, but for the present and while I
live, it is my private park."

"This is perfectly amazing, partner."

"It's mighty comforting," his father admitted. "Guess the new owner
must be one of my old friends--perhaps somebody I did a favour for
once--and this is his way of repaying. Remember the old sugar-pine
windfall we used to sit on? Well, it's rotted through, and bears have
clawed it into chips in their search for grubs, but the new owner had
a seat put in there for me--just the kind of seat I like--a
lumberjack's rocking-chair made from an old vinegar-barrel. I sat in
it, and the Judge left me, and I did a right smart lot o' thinking.
And while it didn't lead me anywhere, still I--er--"

"You felt better, didn't you?" his son suggested.

John Cardigan nodded. "I'd like to know the name of the owner," he
said presently. "I'd like mighty well to say thank you to him. It
isn't usual for people nowadays to have as much respect for sentiment
in an old duffer like me as the fellow has. He sort of makes me feel
as if I hadn't sold at all."

Buck Ogilvy came out of the Bon Gusto restaurant with Moira, just as
Bryce, with George Sea Otter at the wheel of the Napier, drove up to
the curb. They left Moira at her boarding-house, and rolled
noiselessly away.

At nine o'clock they arrived at Cardigan's log-landing and found Jim