That visit to the Matthews' place was the beginning of a friendship that
has never been broken. Every year since, the Doctor has gone to them for
several weeks and always with increasing delight. Among the many
households that, in his professional career, he has been privileged to
know intimately, this home stands like a beautiful temple in a world of
shacks and hovels. But it was not until the philosopher had heard from
Mrs. Matthews the story of Dad Howitt that he understood the reason. In
the characters of Young Matt and Sammy, in their home life and in their
children, the physician found the teaching of the old Shepherd of the
Hills bearing its legitimate fruit. Most clearly did he find it in
Dan--the first born of this true mating of a man and woman who had never
been touched by those forces in our civilization which so dwarf and
cripple the race, but who had been taught to find in their natural
environment those things that alone have the power to truly refine and
glorify life.

Understanding this, the Doctor understood Dan. The boy was well born; he
was natural. He was what a man-child ought to be. He did not carry the
handicap that most of us stagger under so early in the race. And because
of these things, to the keen old physician and student of life, the boy
was a revelation of that best part of himself--that best part of the
race. With the years this feeling of the Doctor's toward the boy has
grown even as their fellowship. But Dan has never understood; how indeed
could he?

It was always Dan who met the Doctor at the little wilderness station,
and who said the last good-bye when the visit was over. Always they were
together, roaming about the hills, on fishing trips to the river,
exploring the country for new delights, or revisiting their familiar