purpose, when my hour of helplessness was near; but, indeed, I have no right to allow you to do this."
"They tell me in the village," wrote Madison in reply, "that you have always refused to accept a penny for anything you have ever done for them. I have no doubt you would equally refuse to accept anything from me for what you may do, and I should hesitate to offer it however much I felt indebted, but this is something that you must let me do. It will make me feel more—how shall I say it?—more as though I had a right to the privilege of coming here."
The Patriarch wiped his still moist eyes before he answered.
'What can I say to you? It does not seem right that I should let a stranger do so much, and yet it seems that I should not say no because—"
Madison was bending over the slate, reading as the other wrote, and he took the pencil gently from the Patriarch's hand.
"You must not look on me any longer as a stranger," he wrote. "Let us just consider that it is all arranged—only I would strongly advise making no mention of it until we make sure that she is alive."
"I think nothing should be said," agreed the Patriarch. "For even if you found her she might not care to come—I have little here to offer a young girl—few comforts—the care of a blind man who is deaf and dumb."
"We'll see about that when we find her"—
