I never married.

.

.

Do you wonder that I sent for you, child ?" Nothing but the clock ticking there in the sunny room, and an old man staring into two dimmed brown eyes, and the little breezes at the open window whispering of summers past.
"This young man, Gatewood," said the Tracer, clearing his voice of its hoarseness--"this young man ought to be all right, if I did not misjudge his father--years ago, child, years ago.

And he _is_ all right--" He half turned toward a big letter-file; "his record is clean, so far.