There was no feeling of triumph in the Elder. He scarcely spoke, and
when Morris described the protective measures that had been adopted, he
merely nodded. In fact, one would have inferred from his manner that he
had had nothing whatever to do with the contest, and took no interest in
it. The only thing that appeared to trouble him was Loo's absence and
the fear lest she should have been "fussed;" but when Morris declared
that neither his wife nor Loo knew what was going on, and Bancroft
announced his intention of driving over to fetch her, he seemed to be
satisfied.

"Jack, I reckon, has had enough," he said to his boarder. "You'd better
take the white mare; she's quiet."

On their way home in the buggy, Bancroft told Loo how her father had
defied the United States troops, and with what unconcern he had taken
his victory:

"I think he's a great man, a hero. And if he had lived in another time,
or in another country, poets would have sung his courage."

"Really," she observed. Her tone was anything but enthusiastic, though
hope stirred in her at his unusual warmth. "Perhaps he cares for me
after all," she thought.

"What are you thinking about, Loo?" he asked, surprised at her silence.

"I was just wonderin'," she answered, casting off her fit of momentary
abstraction, "how father made you like him. It appears as if I couldn't,
George," and she turned towards him while she spoke her wistful eyes