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Once, six years after Joscelyn had left Spring Valley, Cyrus, who was reading a paper by the table, got up with an angry exclamation and stuffed it into the stove, thumping the lid on over it with grim malignity.

“That fool dunno what he’s talking about,” was all he would say. Deborah had her share of curiosity. The paper was the National Gazette and she knew that their next-door neighbour, James Pennan, took it. She went over that evening and borrowed it, saying that their own had been burned before she had had time to read the serial in it. With one exception she read all its columns carefully without finding anything to explain her husband’s anger. Then she doubtfully plunged into the exception … a column of “Stage Notes.” Halfway down she came upon an adverse criticism of Joscelyn Morgan and her new play. It was malicious and vituperative. Deborah Morgan’s old eyes sparkled dangerously as she read it.

“I guess somebody is pretty jealous of Josie,” she muttered. “I don’t wonder Pa was riled up. But I guess she can hold her own. She’s a Morgan.”

No long time after this Cyrus took a notion he’d like a trip to the city. He’d like to see the Horse Fair and look up Cousin Hiram Morgan’s folks.

“Hiram and me used to be great chums, Mother. And we’re getting kind of mossy, I guess, never stirring out of Spring Valley. Let’s go and dissipate for a week–what say?”

Deborah agreed readily, albeit of late years she had been much averse to going far from home and had never at any time been very fond of Cousin Hiram’s wife. Cyrus was as pleased as a child over their trip. On the second day of their sojourn in the city he slipped away when Deborah had gone shopping with Mrs. Hiram and hurried through the streets to the Green Square Theatre with a hang-dog look. He bought a ticket apologetically and sneaked in to his seat. It was a matinee performance, and Joscelyn Morgan was starring in her famous new play.

Cyrus waited for the curtain to rise, feeling as if every one of his Spring Valley neighbours must know where he was and revile him for it. If Deborah were ever to find out … but Deborah must never find out! For the first time in their married life the old man deliberately plotted to deceive his old wife. He must see his girl Josie just once; it was a terrible thing that she was an actress, but she was a successful one, nobody could deny that, except fools who yapped in the National Gazette.

The curtain went up and Cyrus rubbed his eyes. He had certainly braced his nerves to behold some mystery of iniquity; instead he saw an old kitchen so like his own at home that it bewildered him; and there, sitting by the cheery wood stove, in homespun gown, with primly braided hair, was Joscelyn–his girl Josie, as he had seen her a thousand times by his own ingle-side. The building rang with applause; one old man pulled out a red bandanna and wiped tears of joy and pride from his eyes. She hadn’t changed–Josie hadn’t changed. Play-acting hadn’t spoiled her–couldn’t spoil her. Wasn’t she Paul’s daughter! And all this applause was for her–for Josie.

Joscelyn’s new play was a homely, pleasant production with rollicking comedy and heart-moving pathos skilfully commingled. Joscelyn pervaded it all with a convincing simplicity that was really the triumph of art. Cyrus Morgan listened and exulted in her; at every burst of applause his eyes gleamed with pride. He wanted to go on the stage and box the ears of the villain who plotted against her; he wanted to shake hands with the good woman who stood by her; he wanted to pay off the mortgage and make Josie happy. He wiped tears from his eyes in the third act when Josie was turned out of doors and, when the fourth left her a happy, blushing bride, hand in hand with her farmer lover, he could have wept again for joy.

Cyrus Morgan went out into the daylight feeling as if he had awakened from a dream. At the outer door he came upon Mrs. Hiram and Deborah. Deborah’s face was stained with tears, and she caught at his hand.

“Oh, Pa, wasn’t it splendid–wasn’t our girl Josie splendid! I’m so proud of her. Oh, I was bound to hear her. I was afraid you’d be mad, so I didn’t let on and when I saw you in the seat down there I couldn’t believe my eyes. Oh, I’ve just been crying the whole time. Wasn’t it splendid! Wasn’t our girl Josie splendid?”

The crowd around looked at the old pair with amused, indulgent curiosity, but they were quite oblivious to their surroundings, even to Mrs. Hiram’s anxiety to decoy them away. Cyrus Morgan cleared his throat and said, “It was great, Mother, great. She took the shine off the other play-actors all right. I knew that National Gazette man didn’t know what he was talking about. Mother, let us go and see Josie right off. She’s stopping with her aunt at the Maberly Hotel–I saw it in the paper this morning. I’m going to tell her she was right and we were wrong. Josie’s beat them all, and I’m going to tell her so!”