Glen was happier than she had ever been in her life, and while her father and Reynolds talked, she paid little attention to what they were saying.  She was thinking of the great change which had come over her father during the last few days.  He had made no reference to her confession of love for the young man, for which she was most thankful.  She believed that he liked Reynolds, and found in him a companion after his own heart.  Her cares had been suddenly lifted, for in the presence of the two men she loved her fears and forebodings were forgotten.

After supper they sat for a while in front of the cabin.  The men smoked and chatted.  It was a perfect night, and not at all dark, for a young moon was riding over the hills.  Not a ripple ruffled the surface of the lake, and the great forest lay silent and mysterious around.  Weston told several stories of his experiences in the wilderness, especially of his encounter with a grizzly.

“I am very proud of the final shot which brought the brute down,” he said in conclusion.  “I wish you both could have seen it.”

“I do not believe it was any finer than the one which brought my grizzly down,” Glen challenged.  “You should have seen that, daddy.  It was wonderful!”

“Where did you learn to shoot so well?” Weston asked, turning to Reynolds.

“Over in France.  I was a sharpshooter for a while.”

“Well, that is interesting,” and Weston blew a cloud of smoke into the air, while his eyes wandered off across the lake.  “Had some lively experiences, I suppose?”

“Yes, at times.  But, then, no more than others.  All did their share, and did it the best they could.”

“Did you get anything; that is, were you wounded?”

“I have a number of scars; that’s all,” was the modest reply.

“And were you decorated?  Did you receive a medal?” Glen eagerly enquired.  She had often wished to ask that question, but had hitherto hesitated.  She had fondly dreamed that her lover was a hero of more than ordinary metal, and had carried off special honors.  But he was so reserved about what he had done that never until the present moment had she found courage to voice the question.

Reynolds did not at once reply.  It was not his nature to make a display of his accomplishments.  He thought of the two medals securely fastened in his pocket.  They were the only treasures he had brought with him.  All else he had left behind.  But he could not part with the medals which meant so much to him.  He had not brought them for exhibition, but for encouragement in times of depression and trouble.  In his terrible wanderings in the wilderness he had thought of them, and had been inspired.  But why should he not show them now? he asked himself.  It would please Glen, he was sure, and the medals would tell her father that he was no coward.

“I have something which you might like to see,” he at length replied, touching his breast with his hand.  “But perhaps we had better go inside, as it is getting dark out here.”