The Snowflake herald., 1922-10-13
CHAPTER VII

Bruce couldn't mistake the cabin. AT
the end of the trail he found it-a
little shack of unpainted boards with
a single door and a single window.
He stood a moment in the sunlight.
He could not guess what was his des-
tiny behind that rude door. 1t was
moment long waited; for one of the
few times in his life he was trembling
with excitement. He felt as if. key,
long lost, was turning in the doorway
of understanding
He walked nearer and tapped with
his knuckles on the door.
If the forests have one allpervad-
ing quality it is silence. What sound
there is carries far and seems rather
out of place. Bruce could picture the
whole of the little drama that followed
his knock by just the faint sounds
inaudible in a less silent land-that
reached him from behind the door. At
first it was just start; then a short
exclamation in the hollow, half-whis-
pering voice of old, old age. A mo-
ment more of silence-as if a SLOW
moving aged brain were trying to
conjecture who stood Outside-then
the creaking of a chair as some one
rose. The last sounds were Of a
strange hobbling toward him-a rustic
of shoes half dragged on the floor and
the intermittent tapping of a cane.
The face that showed so dimly In
the shadowed room looked just as
Bruce had xpected-wrinkled past
belief, lean and hawk-nOsed from age.
The hand that rested on the cane was
like a birds claw, the skin blue and
hard and dry. She stood bowed over
her cane.
Yet in that first instant Bruce had
an inexplicable impression of being in
the presence of a power. He did not
have the wave of pity with which one
usually greets the decrepit And at
first he didn't know why. But soon
he grew accustomed to the shadows
and he could see the woman's eyes.
Then he understood.
They were set deep behind grizzled
brows, but they glowed like Goals.
There was no other word. They were
not the eyes of one whom time is
about to conquer. Her bodily strength
was gone; any personal beauty that
she might have had was ashes long
and long ago, but some great fire
burned in her yet.
She blinked in the light. "Who is
it?" she crOaked.
Bruce did not answer. He had not
prepared reply for this question. But
it was not needed. The woman leaned
forward, and a vivid light began to
dawn in her dark, furrowed face
Even to Bruce, already succumbed
to this atmosphere of mystery into
which his adventure had led him, that
dawning light was the single most
held. The witchlike face seemed to
CLEAN with white flame. And
Bruce knew that his coming was the
answer to the prayer of a whole life
time. It was a thought to sober him.
No small passion, no weak desire, no
prayer that time or despair could ST.
lence could effect such light as this.
Bruce" he said simply. 1t did not
even occur to him to use the surname
Of Duncan. 1t was name of time
and sphere already forgotten. II
don't know what my real last name
is"
"Bruce-Bruce," the woman whis-
pered. She stretched a palsied hand
to him as if it would feel his flesh to
reassure her of it's reality. He saw
the exultation in her wrinkled, lifted
face. "Oh, praises to His Everlasting
Name!" she cried. "Oh, Glory-Glory
to on High! J"
And this was not blasphemy. The
words came from the heart. No mat
ter how terrible the passion from
which they sprang, whether 1t was
such evil as would cast her to hell,
such cry as this could not go un-
heard. The strength seemed to go out
of her as water flows She rocked on
her cane. and Bruce, thinking she was
about to fall, seized her shoulders.
"At last-at last" she cried. you've
come at last"
She gripped herself. as If trying to
find renewed strength. "Go at once,"
she said, ito the end Of the Pine.