It was not the man of the hiding-place in the rock-pile.

Jolly Roger McKay, standing there in the last soft glow of the day, was no longer the fugitive and the outcast.

He stood with silent lips, yet his soul was crying out its gratitude to all that God of Life which breathed its sweetness of summer evening about him.

He was the First Possessor of the earth.

In that hour, that moment, he would not have sold his place for all the happiness of all the remaining people in the world.