And he was whispering again and again, as though he could find no other
word,
"Mary--Mary--Mary--"
Duggan drew away from the door. The two had paid no attention to his
voice, and the old river-man was one continuous chuckle as he unpacked
Keith's horse and attended to his own, hobbling them both and tying
cow-bells to them. It was half an hour before he ventured up out of the
grove along the creek and approached the cabin again. Even then he
halted, fussing with a piece of harness, until he saw Mary Josephine in
the door. The sun was shining on her. Her glorious hair was down, and
behind her was Keith, so close that his shoulders were covered with it.
Like a bird Mary Josephine sped to Duggan. Great red beard and all she
hugged him, and on the flaming red of his bare cheek-bone she kissed
him.
"Gosh," said Duggan, at a loss for something better to say. "Gosh--"
Then Keith had him by the hand. "Andy, you ripsnorting old liar, if you
weren't old enough to be my father, I'd whale the daylights out of
you!" he cried joyously. "I would, just because I love you so! You've
made this day the--the--the--"
"--The most memorable of my life," helped Mary Josephine.
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