"To think that he lived like this--that he gave me everything and kept
nothing for himself," Ruth said softly through her tears, looking up in
Paul Colbert's troubled face. "Such a desolate, lonely life. It breaks
my heart to think of it. But I would have lived in his house if I could.
I wanted to live in it--I wouldn't have cared how plain and rough it
was. I wanted to live with him and cheer him and make him happy, as if
he had been my own father. I couldn't have loved him more dearly if he
had been. And you would have loved him, too, if you had known him
better. I am sure that you would. You couldn't have helped loving
him--if only for his goodness to me. And he was kind to every one. I
never heard him speak a harsh word of any living thing. It was in being
kind that he lost his life; he must have gone to see the man who was ill
on the boat."
The young doctor looked away and fixed his eyes on the men who were
going over the ground around the cabin.
"Who are those men, Paul? And what are they doing here?" she asked
suddenly, observing that they seemed to be looking for something.
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