It became unduly
prolonged. Bud finished his mail. Jeff was still reading his. It was
not a long letter. He had already read it twice through. Now he again
turned back to its beginning.
Bud observed him closely. He saw the knitted brows. The curious set
of the man's lips. His absorbed interest. Nor did he interrupt. He
contented himself with that patient waiting which betrayed much of the
solid strength of his character.
Presently Jeff looked up. But his eyes did not seek his friend. They
were turned upon the open window, his gaze wandering out toward the
distant hills, which marked the confines of Rainbow Hill Valley.
Still the other refrained from speech. Finally it was Jeff, himself,
who broke the silence.
"Bud," he began, without withdrawing his gaze from the scene beyond the
window, "it's a letter from Ronald. It's the second word I've had of
him in--five years."
Bud nodded.
"The twin."
Jeff's gaze came slowly, thoughtfully back to Bud's face.
"Sure. We're twins."
An unusual softness crept into the eyes of the man at the table.
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