"That's true," said the Elder, thinking aloud, "and good. Ef we all held
together there'd not be much wrong done."

"Then I kin tell the boys," resumed Morris, rising, "that you'll be with
us, Elder. All us young uns hold by you, an' what you say, we'll do,
every time."

"Wall," replied the Elder slowly, "I don't know. I kain't see my way to
goin'. I've always done fer myself by myself, and I mean to--right
through; but the meetin' seems a good idee. I'm not contradictin' that.
It seems strong. I don't go much though on meetin's; they hain't ever
helped me. But a meetin' seems strong--for them that likes it."

With this assurance Morris was fain to be satisfied and go his way.

Bancroft had listened to the colloquy with new feelings. Prepared to
regard with admiration all that the Elder said or did, it was not
difficult for him now to catch the deeper meaning of the uncouth words.
He was drawn to the Elder by moral sympathy, and his early training
tended to strengthen this attraction. It was right, he felt, that the
Elder should take his own course, fearing nothing that man could do.

In the evening he met Loo. She supposed with a careless air that he was
goin' to pack them leather trunks of his.

"No, I've reconsidered it," he answered. "I'm going to beg your father's
pardon, and take back all I said to him."

"Oh! then you do care for me, George," cried the girl enthusiastically,
"an' we ken be happy again. I've been real miserable since last night; I