“Her courtesy?” Shirley echoed.  “Did a woman buy the Giants?”

He smiled down at her.  “Why, certainly.  Who but a woman—­and a dear, kind, thoughtful woman—­would have thought to have this chair made and brought up here for me?”

Fell a long silence between them; then John Cardigan’s trembling hand went groping out toward the girl’s.  “Why, how stupid of me not to have guessed it immediately!” he said.  “You are the new owner.  My dear child, if the silent prayers of a very unhappy old man will bring God’s blessing on you—­there, there, girl!  I didn’t intend to make you weep.  What a tender heart it is, to be sure!”

She took his great toil-worn hand, and her hot tears fell on it, for his gentleness, his benignancy, had touched her deeply.  “Oh, you must not tell anybody!  You mustn’t,” she cried.

He put his hand on her shoulder as she knelt before him.  “Good land of love, girl, what made you do it?  Why should a girl like you give a hundred thousand dollars for my Valley of the Giants?  Were you”—­ hesitatingly—­“your uncle’s agent?”

“No, I bought it myself—­with my own money.  My uncle doesn’t know I am the new owner.  You see, he wanted it—­for nothing.”

“Ah, yes.  I suspected as much a long time ago.  Your uncle is the modern type of business man.  Not very much of an idealist, I’m afraid.  But tell me why you decided to thwart the plans of your relative.”

“I knew it hurt you terribly to sell your Giants; they were dear to you for sentimental reasons.  I understood, also, why you were forced to sell; so I—­well, I decided the Giants would be safer in my possession than in my uncle’s.  In all probability he would have logged this valley for the sake of the clear seventy-two-inch boards he could get from these trees.”

“That does not explain satisfactorily, to me, why you took sides with a stranger against your own kin,” John Cardigan persisted.  “There must be a deeper and more potent reason, Miss Shirley Sumner.”

“Well,” Shirley made answer, glad that he could not see the flush of confusion and embarrassment that crimsoned her cheek, “when I came to Sequoia last May, your son and I met, quite accidentally.  The stage to Sequoia had already gone, and he was gracious enough to invite me to make the journey in his car.  Then we recalled having met as children, and presently I gathered from his conversation that he and his John-partner, as he called you, were very dear to each other.  I was witness to your meeting that night—­I saw him take you in his big arms and hold you tight because you’d—­gone blind while he was away having a good time.  And you hadn’t told him!  I thought that was brave of you; and later, when Bryce and Moira McTavish told me about you—­ how kind you were, how you felt your responsibility toward your employees and the community—­well, I just couldn’t help a leaning toward John-partner and John-partner’s boy, because the boy was so fine and true to his father’s ideals.”