"Patricia," John said, "I'm personnel manager for Western Tool Corporation. We need someone with your background in commercial art to head up our advertising section in Westbridge. Of course it would require relocation, but it's a good opportunity to get into management."

Pat and John hashed out the details that night, and in two weeks Pat was leaving us for Westbridge. I must say she was a changed girl. And it was almost like seeing one of your own children leave home to watch her go. We had given her life, in its present form. She was, in a sense, one of our own children.

Pat's first act upon arriving in Westbridge must have been to write us a letter, judging by the post mark. And rarely a week went by for the first three months that we didn't get a letter from her. But she grew more accustomed to her surroundings she took less time in writing to us. It's been a month now since I've heard from her. But I got a letter from her yesterday.

I did not get a chance to read her letter till yesterday afternoon while I was out checking on the dam project I had found her on. She seemed to be bubbling over with enthusiasm and happiness. She didn't come right out and say so, but she seems to have met some other understanding person like Fay. She really knows now that she belongs in the world.

I seldom wax philosophical, but I couldn't help remembering the stormy moonlight sky and mud choked work road that marked Pat's stormiest moment of life. And now the sun was shining and the road smooth.

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