At this Dr. Coughlan stopped short and leaned against a convenient tree for support, looking up at his big host, with merriment he could not hide; “Parson, parson!  Daniel Howitt talk as good as a parson!  Blast it all!  Dan is one of the biggest D. D.’s in the United States; as good as a parson, I should think so!  Why, man, he’s my pastor; my pastor.  Biggest church, greatest crowds in the city.  Well what would Sarah and the girls say!” He stood there gasping and shaking with laughter, until Old Matt, finding the ridiculous side of the situation, joined in with a guffaw that fairly drowned the sound of the little man’s merriment.

When they finally moved on again, the Doctor said, “And you never knew?  The papers were always full, always.  His real name is—­”

“Stop!” Old Matt spoke so suddenly and in such a tone that the other jumped in alarm.  “I ain’t a meanin’ no harm, Doc; but you oughtn’t to tell his name, and—­anyway I don’t want to know.  Preacher or no preacher, he’s a man, he is, and that’s what counts in this here country.  If Dad had wanted us to know about himself, I reckon he’d a told us, and I don’t want to hear it until he’s ready.”

The Doctor stopped short again, “Right, sir; right.  Daniel has his reasons, of course.  I forgot.  That savage at the Postoffice tried to interrogate me; tried to draw me.  I was close; on guard you see.  Fellow in the wagon tried; still on guard.  You caught me.  Blast it all, I like you!  Fine specimen that boy of yours; fine!”

When they reached the top of the ridge the stranger looked over the hills with exclamations of delight, “Grand, sir; grand!  Wish Sarah and the girls could see.  Don’t wonder Daniel staid.  That Hollow down there you say; way down there?  Mutton—­Mutton Hollow?  Daniel lives there?  Blast it all; come on, man; come on.”

As they drew near the house, Pete came slowly up the Old Trail and met them at the gate.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Old friends.

After supper Young Matt guided the stranger down the trail to the sheep ranch in Mutton Hollow.

When they reached the edge of the clearing, the mountaineer stopped.  “Yonder’s the cabin, sir, an’ Dad is there, as you can see by the smoke.  I don’t reckon you’ll need me any more now, an’ I’ll go back.  We’ll be mighty glad to see you on the ridge any time, sir.  Any friend of Dad’s is mighty welcome in this neighborhood.”

“Thank you; thank you; very thoughtful; very thoughtful, indeed; fine spirit, fine.  I shall see you again when Daniel and I have had it out.  Blast it all; what is he doing here?  Good night, young man; good-night.”  He started forward impetuously.  Matt turned back toward home.

The dog barked as Dr. Coughlan approached the cabin, and the shepherd came to the open door.  He had been washing the supper dishes.  His coat was off, his shirt open at the throat, and his sleeves rolled above his elbows.  “Here, Brave.”  The deep voice rolled across the little clearing, and the dog ran to stand by his master’s side.  Then, as Mr. Howitt took in the unmistakable figure of the little physician, he put out a hand to steady himself.