“But what has that to do with vision?” Weston asked.

“A great deal.  It is the vision, the lure of something beyond, which calls forth that power and compels it to undertake great things.  All the wonderful achievements of the past are due to men of vision.  They saw what others could not see, and in the face of opposition and discouragement they went steadily forward.”

“And what did you expect to accomplish when you started for Glen West?”

At these words Reynolds gave a slight start, and glanced curiously at his companion.

“I hoped to win the fairest and noblest flower of womanhood that it has ever been my lot to know except one, and that was my mother.”

“Other men have said the same thing, young man,” and Weston smiled.  “They, like yourself, followed attractive faces, pleasing forms, and luring voices, and when it was too late they found out their mistake.  You know the legend of the Sirens, I suppose?”

“That has been true, sir, in many cases.  But mine is different.  Some women have many outward attractions, but no souls.  The first time I beheld your daughter I detected something in her that I never saw before in any woman, and that is saying a great deal.  Since I have known her better, I have found that I was right, and that she is worthy of a man’s noblest vision.  A woman such as she is would elevate a man who has the least spark of nobleness.”

“You are right, young man, you are certainly right,” Weston acknowledged, and his voice was somewhat husky.  “You are more than fortunate in having such a vision.  But what will it lead to?”

“That remains to be seen,” Reynolds slowly replied.  “Anyway, the vision I have been following has made a new man of me already.  Before I saw your daughter on the street one night, I had no aim in life.  I was ready to drift anywhere and into anything.  But the sight of her brought me up standing, and gave me a new impulse.  Even though my vision should never be attained, I am better and stronger, for what the poet says is true, that ‘The striving makes the man.’”

They were crossing a wild meadow now, and before them loomed the high hill up which Reynolds had so wearily climbed in his great battle for life.  He could hardly believe that they were so near the place, and he expressed his astonishment to his companion.

“We have come in a straight course,” Weston explained, “and that makes the difference.  When you were lost, you wandered around for a long time until you happened by chance upon yonder hill.  It is a wonder to me that you ever found your way out of this region.”

“So it is to me,” Reynolds replied.  “And to think that I was so foolish as to chase that moose after what Frontier Samson told me.  I see now that the old man was right.  I wonder where he can be.  Perhaps he has gone back to Big Draw.  I must go there, too, as soon as we return, for I feel sure that Samson is worrying about me.”