and eyes," he murmured. "My son, my son, I shall love you so, for now
I must love for two. Sorrow I shall keep from you, please God, and
happiness and worldly comfort shall I leave you when I go to her." He
nuzzled his grizzled cheek against the baby's face. "Just you and my
trees," he whispered, "just you and my trees to help me hang on to a
plucky finish."

For love and paternity had come to him late in life, and so had his
first great sorrow; wherefore, since he was not accustomed to these
heritages of all flesh, he would have to adjust himself to the
change. But his son and his trees--ah, yes, they would help. And he
would gather more redwoods now!




CHAPTER III


A young half-breed Digger woman, who had suffered the loss of the
latest of her numerous progeny two days prior to Mrs. Cardigan's
death, was installed in the house on the knoll as nurse to John
Cardigan's son whom he called Bryce, the family name of his mother's
people. A Mrs. Tully, widow of Cardigan's first engineer in the mill,
was engaged as housekeeper and cook; and with his domestic
establishment reorganized along these simple lines, John Cardigan
turned with added eagerness to his business affairs, hoping between
them and his boy to salvage as much as possible from what seemed to
him, in the first pangs of his loneliness and desolation, the
wreckage of his life.