“Let us hope so, Mr. Norris. Perhaps they will be here in time for Christmas.” This was merely a surmise on Marion’s part, but she had to say something of an encouraging nature.
“Yes, I believe they will be here for Christmas,” and the man’s face brightened. “They always came then, and we had such a happy time. Martha, my dear wife, always looked forward to this blessed season. I feel certain that my flock will come back. I can see them trooping in from the distant camping-places, all eager to outstrip one another. Yes, they will surely come.”
Leaving him with his vision, Marion slipped out of the room. She knew that he should be quiet, and she also wished to be by herself, that she might think. She was puzzled at the missionary’s unexpected recovery. She sat down near the stove, and leaned back against the wall, for she felt unusually tired. Had the man been shot? she asked herself. Perhaps the bullet had not entered his body as she had imagined. It might have struck him a glancing blow on the head. She should have questioned Tom, the Indian, more closely. Was it possible that after all he might recover, and live to stand in The Gap for some time yet?
After a while she rose to her feet, moved softly to the door of the bedroom, and looked in. What she saw gave her great hope. The invalid’s eyes were closed, and his sleep was as that of a little child.
