Allen returned to the house.
"Wife," said he, "look at the woods yonder. They are like the city
of holy promise. 'Behold I will lay thy stones with fair colours
and thy foundations with sapphires, and I will make thy windows of
agate.'"
"Did you find the track of the little sleigh?" said she.
"No," he answered, "nor will any man, for all paths are hidden."
"Theron--may we keep the boy?" she inquired.
"I think it is the will of God," said Allen.
The boy grew and throve in mind and body. For a time he prattled
in a language none who saw him were able to comprehend. But he
learned English quickly and soon forgot the jargon of his babyhood.
The shadows of mystery that fell over his coming lengthened far
into his life and were deepened by others that fell across them.
Before he could have told the story, all memory of whom he left or
whence he came had been swept away. It was a house of riddles
where Allen dwelt--a rude thing of logs and ladders and a low roof
and two rooms. Yet one ladder led high to glories no pen may
describe. The Allens, with this rude shelter, found delight in
dreams of an eternal home whose splendour and luxury would have
made them miserable here below.
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