Then it was I saw them, even as when I last rode forth, my father seated in his great splint chair, my mother with her arm along the carved back, one hand shading her eyes as she watched our coming.
This is not a memory to be written about for stranger eyes to read, but as I turned from them after that first greeting, their glances were upon her who stood waiting beside me, so sweet and pure in her young womanhood.
"And this, my son ?" questioned my father kindly.

"We would bid her welcome also; yet surely she cannot be that little child for whose sake we sent you forth ?" I took her by the hand as we faced them.
"You sent me in search of one whom you would receive even as your own child," I answered simply.

"This is Roger Matherson's daughter, and the dear wife of your son." What need have I to dwell upon the love that bade her welcome?
And so it was that out of all the suffering and danger,--forth from the valley of the shadow of death,--Toinette and I came home.
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