The months went by.  J.W. kept his wits about him, and on the road he stuck to his salesman’s faith that goods are better sold by those who know exactly how they may be used and that they are never sold until they are bought.  So he found favor in the sight of Peter McDougall.  The proof of that is easy.  Peter gave him a week off before the end of his first year.

Delafield looked better to the homecoming salesman than it had to the boy coming back from college.  And the town was glad to see him.  He meant something to not a few of its people, altogether outside the interest of the Farwells—­and Pastor Drury—­and Jeannette!

Deep Creek was his first port of call, after his first half-day at home.  He had been welcomed with deep, quiet gladness by the home folks, and he had talked a little over the telephone with the preacher.  Then time was a laggard until he could head the Farwell car toward Deep Creek and the old farm.

Jeannette’s welcome was all that even he could ask, though, of course, just precisely what it was is none of our business.  In the car, and by the fireplace in the Shenk living room, and around the farm, they considered many things, some of them not so personal as others.  J.W. told the story of his life in Saint Louis and on the road; Jeannette listening like another Desdemona to the recital.  And once again it was not the adventure which supplied the thrill, but the adventurer.

And Jeannette told him the news of Delafield.  How Joe Carbrook and Marcia Dayne’s wedding had been the most wonderful wedding ever seen in Delafield, with the town as proud of its one-time scapegrace as it was of the beautiful bride.  How brother Marty had been finding many excuses of late for driving up from his circuit, and how he managed to see Alma Wetherell a good deal.  How Alma was now head bookkeeper and cashier of the Emporium, the town’s biggest store, and how she was such a dear girl.  How Pastor Drury and Marty had become great friends.  How the minister was not so well as usual, and people were getting to be a little worried about him.  How the Delafield church had taken up tithing, and was not only doing a lot better financially, but in every other way.  How Deep Creek was going to have a new minister, a friend whom Marty had met at the summer school for rural ministers, who would try to help the Deep Creek people get an up-to-date church building and learn to use it.  How the Everyday Doctrines of Delafield had been first boosted and then forgotten, and now again several of them were being practiced in some quarters.  And much more, though never to the wearing out of J.W.’s interest.  Certainly not, the news being just what he wanted to know, and the reporter thereof being just the person he wanted to tell it to him.

One bit of news Jeannette did not tell, for the sufficient reason that she did not know it.  Pastor Drury and Brother Marty had become great friends, but what Jeannette could not tell was the special bond of interest which was back of the fact.  Marty had long been aware that for some reason the Delafield pastor was peculiarly concerned about J.W.  Never did he guess Walter Drury’s secret, but he knew well enough there was one.