IV

Soon all was still, and after waiting a while till the sleep was deep he crept upon them. Fortunately the moon was up in its full glory and Steve could see plainly what he was about. He crept up close to the two snoring men and across the feet of the tall one lay his fox skin.

“I must git that anyways,” said the boy to himself, “for it belongs to the man in the city.”

Slowly, cautiously he lifted it from the big heavy feet, and there was not a stir. Then he stood, his heart almost bursting with longing for his watch. It was in the big man’s pocket he was sure, and he stooped close a minute, reaching out a hand,––but he didn’t dare. If he waked them, skin and watch would both be gone, and he must by all means get the skin to give to the man in the city. He went sorrowfully away with only the skin. He didn’t dare stop near them, so he tramped half the night in spite of frequent twinges in his left ankle which had had a little twist as the men threw him down, and at last the boy dropped upon the ground, utterly exhausted, to sleep until noon next day.

When he wakened, stiff and sore from the blows of the men, and tried to get upon his feet he found that left ankle so swollen and painful he could not put the foot to the ground. He realized for the first time also with great consternation that he had nothing39to eat. Bruised, sore, empty, helpless he sat alone in the woods. But even then he did not know the desolation of the night before. He felt once more that comforting sense of companionship with the great Creator, and he faced the situation sturdily.

He crept about on his knees hunting berries which he knew were good to eat. It was a laborious way to get breakfast, or more properly dinner, but he succeeded in finding enough to still somewhat the gnawing in his empty stomach, and suddenly as he lifted his head a road lay before him. With hope that was almost a tranquil certainty he crept to the roadside and sat down. An hour or more passed with only the call and song of birds to break the stillness,––when, list! There was surely a rumble of wheels! And then the cry came distinctly, “Git up thar!”

Tears of joy rained down the boy’s face as a covered wagon drawn by four mules came into view, though he sturdily brushed them aside as the wagon drove up and halted.

“Hello, thar,” called a lusty youthful voice, and the driver, a young fellow of perhaps nineteen who was mounted on one of the mules, turned round and saw at a glance the swollen, helpless foot.

“Done up, air ye, Bub? Whar do ye belong anyways?”

Steve knew at once that these people were friends, and told them his little story.

“I want to git to the city, so’s to give the skin to the man thar an’ then I’m goin’ to larn to make watches an’ things,” he concluded.

“Wal, you air a long piece from the city, but we uns kin help ye git to the railroad and that’ll take ye to the city.”

Several heads of varying sizes were sticking out of the wagon by this time, and when Steve had been helped in among the occupants he found it was a family moving from one little hamlet to another. The husband and father had recently died and they were going back to their mother’s home to live among her “kin.”

The kindly mother at once bound up Steve’s injured foot with white of egg and salt, which she said would “fetch it round all right,” and hearing the empty rumbles of his poor little stomach she said she didn’t believe “thar was a thing inside of it,” and proceeded to give him a good square meal.

Was there ever anything happier than to be driving along the road with a comfortable foot, a full stomach and in the midst of friends! Steve had never known greater joy than that moment held. They were a “happy-go-lucky” family he had fallen in with,––and for the first time in his life he was in41the midst of the merry banter of children. The mountain folk of remote regions lack a sense of humour, and Steve had grown up entirely alone, the cabins of Hollow Hut being scattered, so he sat through the afternoon in a maze of delight. There were snickers and giggles, punching in the ribs and tickling of toes from these children who lived on the border of civilization, for Steve had really gone blindly towards his goal.

As they drove gaily along Steve heard a sudden rumbling which suggested thunder, the children cried, “The train, the train,” and stopping the mules quickly the big brother who was driving jumped down, while three of the children sprang out with a bound and all grasped the bridles at their heads. It was done so quickly there wasn’t time to ask a question and then a monster came tearing, puffing, hissing past them. Steve’s eyes almost started from their sockets and when it was past he sank back limp and quivering.

“Why, chile, didn’t ye nuver see no railroad trains afore?” said the good mother.

Steve managed to say, “No,” and then the children told him all the astonishing things about railroads. To his mingled joy and terror another came along from the opposite direction when they had driven on about a mile further, and this42time it came more slowly, making a full stop near them.

“Whut air they a-doin’ that for?” asked Steve, and when it was explained that they had stopped for fuel or water, there being no station near, a quivering light broke over his face, and remembering his watch as his mind tried to grasp new sources of motion, he said:

“They’re jes’ a-stoppin’ to wind hit up, then.”

Very soon after this they came to a cabin by the roadside and all the family within poured out to see the strangers.

“Won’t you light and hitch?” drawled the man of the house, but the boy driver refused, saying they wanted “to git to their kin afore night.” He suggested to Steve, however, that if he wanted to go to the city he had better stop there, for they were going further from any station than he would be there. The folks of the cabin were hearty in their invitation to the boy when they had heard his story, even the fact of his probable helplessness for a while not marring the beauty of their royal hospitality. So Steve was carefully lifted out and helped in among new friends.

The little cabin was full to overflowing with boys and girls, one girl of fifteen fondling her baby as she would a big doll, in ignorant, unlawful, and one perhaps43should say innocent motherhood. She, a waif herself, had come along needing shelter and they had taken her in.

When Steve had had his supper pallets were spread everywhere about the cabin floor upon which the family went to rest fully clothed, after the fashion of mountaineers, and to the boy the night was a great contrast from the previous one in the loneliness of the woods. He thought of his own home as he had never done since he left it, wondering if his father and Mirandy would like to see him, but he never dreamed of how they had searched the woods for miles around when he was missed the second day after leaving. His failure to return the first day and night they thought little of, for he frequently did not come back after morning, but the second day’s absence had brought real alarm, and when they found his blanket Mirandy said she knew something had killed and eat him up; she had forgotten about the fox skin which in that case should also have been there. But Jim Langly set his teeth grimly and said the boy had gone off “along o’ that watch,” and he did not cease to make inquiry as he had opportunity, trying to trace his son, while he angrily threatened to kill that city man if ever he “showed up agin in them parts.”

44IVA HALT ON THE ROAD

Steve spent a week in the crowded but hospitable cabin of his latest friends resting the swollen foot. It was not seriously sprained and would have given him no trouble but for the long tramp upon it the night before and his general fatigue.

He had an interesting time with this family on the roadside. They were of the most shiftless type of mountain folk. Life was a long holiday to them, every meal a picnic. There were too many to gather about the table in the little log lean-to, so the elders only sat down at meal times. The children came up shuffling, pushing and squirming good naturedly to get their portions and ran away again full-handed to sit on the door-step or flat upon the ground outside while they ate. Sometimes one ambitious consumer would succeed in disposing of his viands more rapidly than the others and then woe to some small delinquent! His food would be snatched away and a lively fisticuff probably follow during which the inevitable “yaller dog” was usually the gainer. The disturbance at times reached a height45which brought the mother lazily to the door with a mild:

“Now ef ye alls don’t quit fussin’, I’ll set the boogers arter ye ter-night,” which was a dire and telling threat, for, to the mountain children, “boogers” meant ghosts, witches, hobgoblins, thieves, or any other terrible, mysterious creature of the night.

Steve went up to the table with the rest for his portion of food, and took his chances with the other children if a squabble began. Association with the children was most enjoyable to Steve. They told marvellous tales about giants and mountain feuds and the mother’s threat of “boogers” was sure to stir up all their recollections about ghosts. Wherever there was a “killin’” as the result of a mountain feud ghosts were sure to congregate and marvellous were the tales which clustered about each bloody spot. Steve being a new listener must hear all these old tragic stories.

When meals were over, the family disposed themselves to their liking. The head of the house invariably lit his pipe and sat in the chimney corner to smoke, a custom quite familiar to Steve. The mother washed the skillet and few utensils used about the meal, smoking her pipe the while. The young girl sat down outside in the sun to play with46her baby, the big boys perhaps went off hunting and the children wandered aimlessly in and out.

The fields of corn and tobacco had been planted and now there was little to do but watch it grow, so they thought. The hogs practically took care of themselves. What more could any one demand, a blank look would unconsciously have inquired, if asked why they did not work.

When the day was over and the troop of children began to grow sleepy, one after another dropped down upon the cabin floor, perhaps upon a pallet, perhaps not, and fell asleep. The older ones followed in the same way, as inclination suggested, and room was cheerfully made for Steve among the rest. For a night or two the full chorus of audible breathing wakened him frequently, but he soon became accustomed to it.

In the morning the voice of some child was apt to be heard first:

“Mammy, I’m hongry.”

And the reply would come, “Now you shet up, ’tain’t time ter be gittin’ up yit,” or perhaps the satisfied parent would yawn and say:

“Wal, I reckons I might as well git up and stop ye mouth,” and so the household would gradually emerge from slumber.

This was the normal daily life, but comedy and47tragedy came to them as to the rest of the world, and Steve had a taste of both during his stay of a week.

Unlike Hollow Hut it was a somewhat thickly settled community and one moonlight night some young folks from neighbouring cabins came in. Steve’s friends made the visitors welcome and hailed with delight the banjo which one of them had brought. The young folks were out for a frolic and laugh and joke were ready.

Pretty soon the banjo began to tune up and set everybody’s feet to patting.

“Clear out things,” called one of the boys, and in no time the few articles the room held were out of the way. Then the air vibrated with “Hook and Line,” “Sourwood Mountain,” and other lively tunes, while everybody danced except Steve, who crept to the farthest corner and in wonder looked and listened. He had never seen dancing or heard music before.

The girl with the baby came and dropped it down upon his lap while she joined in the fun, and it almost seemed that the cabin itself would break from its moorings in the abandon of rollicking, swaying motion.

When everybody was tired out the banjo player, a young fellow with deep-set black eyes and the unmistakable look of an artist in embryo, swung into a48monologue accompanied by the banjo, part talk, part song, describing a fox hunt which was most fascinating and altogether remarkable.

He called the hounds with “Here Tige,” “Here Jack,” “Here Spot,” “Here Bob-tail,” interspersed with the tooting of a horn, long musical whistles and the banjo striking soft staccato chords. He mustered the men, he raced the horses with excited calls of “Git up thar,” and gave clever imitation of fleeing hoofs, “to-bucket, to-bucket, to-bucket,” in a rapid, low, chanting song. Then the leading hound opened with a plaintive bay “how!-oo-oo-oo, how!-oo-oo-oo,” and one by one the others joined in with varying notes till it swelled to a weird chorus of baying hounds which the banjo and the musician’s voice made most realistic. Next the fox was spied and there were cries of “Hello! Ho! Here he is!” “There he runs,” with the banjo thumping like mad! Then the medley shaded down into a wild, monotonous drumming from the strings and the voice, which represented most thrillingly the chase at full height. At last the fox was caught with dogs barking, men calling, and banjo shrilling a triumphant strain in stirring climax.

Steve followed it all in breathless excitement, and the rest of the audience received it with boisterous enthusiasm.

After this somebody started the lovely old ballad, “Barbary Allen,” in which all joined; then, “I have a True Love in the Army,” and “The Swapping Song” followed, while “Whistle up your Dogs, Boys, and Shoulder your Guns,” made lively the leave-taking and echoed back from far down the road.

Then there was a night of tragedy during Steve’s visit. The sleepers of the cabin were suddenly aroused by blood-curdling whoops and yells, gunshots, racing horses and running men. Everybody was instantly alert and the family turned out of the cabin en masse. It was thrilling. All knew well what it meant. The head of the house and older boys joined the fleeing crowd like dogs in a chase.

“That’s Bud Levit’s folks and the Cuneys done broke out agin ’bout that ole fuss, I bet,” drawled the wife and mother, when the tumult had died down to faint echoes.

“I reckon thar’ll be a big killin’ this time,” said one of the children with zest.

“Thar shore was a passle er folks and a pile er shootin’,” said another enthusiastically.

“Now, you-alls git back to bed an’ shet up,” said the mother, and her brood gradually quieted down.

Next day when the man of the house and older boys returned about dark, full of whiskey and full of50talk, a most exciting tale was unfolded to the eager listeners.

“Hit was the biggest killin’ whut’s been in these parts fur many er day,” said the man with pride. “I’ll tell ye when they did git together they fit lack beastes. When ev’ythin’ was over thar was five on ’em a-layin’ in their blood. Three of the Levits an’ two of the Cuneys.”

“Wal, I hope they’ll keep quiet fer a spell now,” commented the woman.

Then all the ghastly details were gone over with the children listening eagerly, drinking it in as they would a story of an exciting hunt. When the children discussed it afterwards one little fellow said to another: “I tell yer what, I’m er goin’ ter be a fighter jes’ lack them Levits. I’ll shoot ’em down ef anybody comes foolin’ round me.”

Steve listened soberly. The experience was not a new one to him, but he remembered that his “Mammy” had always said she didn’t like killings and that mountain folks ought to “larn better some way.” The words came back to the boy with peculiar meaning since the voice which uttered them was still. He said nothing, but it all made him more anxious to move on towards that other world of which he and “Mammy” had dreamed.

The following morning his foot seeming fully restored51and clearing weather having come after several days of rain, Steve said “he thought he’d move on.”

“Whar ye goin’?” said the man of the house who had paid little attention to him before.

“I’m er goin’ to the railroad fust, an’ then from thar to the city to give the fox skin to the man, an’ to larn things.”

“Larn things,” said the man scornfully, not being in the best of humour after the previous day’s dissipation. “Huh! I s’pose ye’ll be goin’ to some er them city schools. Ye better go on back whar you come from. Schoolin’ ain’t no good ter anybody. Hit’s them schools whut larns folks to go ’round pesterin’ other folks, breakin’ up ‘stills.’ Folks has got jest as good er right ter make whiskey es anything else,” which showed in what he was especially interested.

Steve made no answer for the man was too forbidding in his irritability, but the boy kept to his determination to press on at once towards the railroad. After breakfast was over he went back to see the woman of the house, and in lazy kindness she said she wished she had a little bread and meat to give him but “there wan’t none left,” which Steve was quite prepared to hear, for there were many mouths to feed and never any left.

“I hope ye’ll git thar all right. I reckons ye’ll git somethin’ to eat on the road, and ef ye’re ever to52come this-a-way agin come an’ see us,” she drawled as she smoked.

“Ye been mighty good ter me,” said Steve, “an’ I ain’t nuver goin’ ter forgit it.”

He passed the children about the door-step, his fox skin under his arm, and they stood and watched him leave with a sort of sorrowful solemnity. Goodbyes are a thing unknown to mountain folk.

Then he walked off without much thought as to direction, having a definite impression, however, as to the way he should go, which was part instinct and partly remembrance of what the boy on the moving wagon had told him. The people he had left were too inert to think of giving him any instructions. But down the road he passed the big boys of the house sitting idly by the roadside. They had heard with satisfaction their father’s opinion as to Steve’s going in search of “larnin’.” As Steve came in sight one of them nudged the other and said, “Less throw him off the scent.”

“Which-a-way ye goin’, Bub?” he asked when Steve came up.

Then for the first time Steve stopped and thought.

“Why, that-a-way,” he replied pointing.

The big boys laughed boisterously. “Ye’ll nuver git to no railroad goin’ that-a-way. Thar’s the way ye want ter go,” said one, pointing off at a slightly53different angle, which made the greatest difference in the boy’s ultimate destination.

Steve looked doubtfully, but when he reflected a moment he remembered that he really did not know positively in what direction to go.

“Is that so?” he inquired looking earnestly at the boys.

“Hit shore is,” returned both of them.

“How fur is it?” asked Steve.

“Oh, ’tain’t fur,” said one of the boys; “ye ought ter git thar before night easy. You go straight as a crow flies that-a-way,” pointing as he had before, “and ye’ll come to the railroad tracks. Ye can’t miss hit fer ye’re bound to cross ’em, an’ ef ye go straight, lack I tell ye, ye’ll be right at the station.”

The boy on the moving wagon had described the railroad tracks to him, so Steve started off feeling reassured, and it never occurred to him that any one could be mean enough to misdirect him. It was a pity the echoes from the boisterous laughter of the boys when he was out of hearing could not have reached the little traveller’s ears, but they did not, and Steve pressed on with good spirits feeling that he was almost in sight of his goal with less than a day’s journey before him.

He turned at once from the road and went on and on, knowing as well as the crow how to keep straight54with the compass, although like the crow he had never heard of one. The straight path took him quickly into the wilderness, but that did not dismay him as wilderness travel had become most familiar to him. At noon he began to feel so empty, he longed for just a little piece of corn bread. And then remembering that the mother thought he’d get something to eat on the road he began looking cheerfully for the smoke of a cabin somewhere. He had been vaguely disappointed at striking no road anywhere, but he had not asked the boys any particulars as to the route. Everything so far in his journeying had been unexpected, and the possibilities of routes were so totally unknown to him that he had started on again, as when he left home, unquestioning.

The empty stomach continued to cry loudly for food as the afternoon wore on, and no cabin smoke gave token of life anywhere. He did not suffer from thirst for mountain streams and springs were abundant. He pressed bravely forward, cheering himself with the thought that the boys had said he would come to the tracks before dark. But twilight began creeping in among the forest trees and still no tracks were in sight. Anxiously he listened for the terrible yet thrilling rush of a train which he remembered so well. He ought to be in hearing distance of them by now. But nothing broke the forest stillness55save the twitter and song of birds, the scurrying of rabbits or frisking of squirrels with occasionally the sound of some larger animal in the underbrush.

Finally night fell with the poor boy straining his anxious eyes for the shining tracks of which he had heard. He forced his aching limbs along till suddenly, with a quivering sob, his strength seemed all to go and he sank upon the ground in a pitiful heap. He was too exhausted to think and in a few moments was sound asleep.

He lay upon the summit of a rugged mountain, which dropped precipitately down just beyond the sleeping boy, to ripple off again in lesser lofty heights, with beautiful fertile valleys and tossing streams between. A little, lonely, helpless human soul he lay upon Nature’s majestic bosom, with the Infinite hand beneath his head.

In the morning when he waked billows of mist in silver splendour were rolling slowly from the valleys below, like Nature’s incense rising in her sacred morning hour.

Although born in the mountains the mystic grandeur of the scene filled Steve with awe. Rising, he gazed, a part of the worshipful silence, and then as the sun burst suddenly into golden glory above the waves of mist, his mind as suddenly seemed to shoot up from the mists of fatigue and sleep. It was56the peculiarly clear brain which sometimes comes with long abstinence from food. Instantly he knew that he had been fooled!

Turning to look back over the way he had come he said to himself: “Them boys told me wrong, an’ they did hit a purpose. They’re lack their pappy, they don’t want to larn nothin’ an’ they don’t want nobody else ter nuther.”

57VA DOUBLE RESCUE

The boy stood quietly on the mountain top and took his bearings. He knew the way he had come, and remembering his previous impressions, and what his friend on the moving wagon had said, he turned at last and started down at an acute angle from the direction he had come. He gathered again as he went whatever he knew to be good to eat in the way of berries and herbs, but he soon began to feel so weary that he could hardly drag himself along. Had he gotten out of the wilderness only to plunge into it again and be lost? For as the day went on and he met no one, saw no cabin or the long-looked-for railroad tracks, discouragement and anxiety beset him. Noon passed again. Sometimes he thought he must stop and rest, but he was afraid if he did he could never get up again. His fatigue and hunger were far greater than in his previous experience in the wilderness, for he had never eaten heartily at the roadside cabin, knowing that food was not abundant there. So he was not in the best of trim for a long fast and great physical strain.

The remnants of his courage were wearing away when at last he seemed to be emerging into a more open country. He was still in the woods, but there was a subtle difference. He felt somehow that man was in proximity somewhere, though he had as yet seen no sign. His pulses quickened a little, and then suddenly a child’s scream rang out.

Steve bounded forward at first with joy, and then as scream after scream followed, with the unmistakable agony of fear in the cry, forgetting his deadly weariness he ran swiftly in the direction of the sound, dropping the fox skin as he ran. In a breathless moment he came in sight of a good sized tree, and hanging from a high limb by the skirt of her dress was a little girl, head downward.

Steve saw in an instant that she could not help herself, and that she might fall to her death any moment. He did not pause or hesitate. Up the tree he went, his bare feet clinging to the sides, up and up in a twinkling, then he carefully crept out upon the limb and drew the little girl safely up beside him.

“Oh,” she said when she had recovered her equilibrium and gotten her breath, “I thank you so much,” and even then Steve was conscious that he had never seen anything so pretty in all his life as the blue eyes which looked up into his, and the soft yellow curls59which framed her little face. But he hurried to get her down safely. With infinite care he helped her until she could go on down the tree alone, and then, he did not know what happened, but things suddenly seemed to whirl round and he fell to the ground in an unconscious heap.

The next he knew some one was wiping his face with a damp cloth and chafing his hands. He was too tired to open his eyes and see who it was. Then a woman’s voice was saying in a worried but gentle tone:

“What were you doing in the tree, Nancy? You know I don’t like for you to climb trees.”

“Why, mother,” replied a frightened little voice, “I found a poor little birdie out of its nest, and I pinned it up tight in my apron pocket and carried it up the tree and put it into the nest. The father and mother bird were so worried about it. I didn’t know I was going to fall, and make this boy fall too, and hurt himself so bad,” and the small voice broke pitifully.

“You never should have tried to do such a thing,” said her mother firmly, and then as the little voice went into sobs, Steve opened his eyes in a brave effort to try to assure them he was all right.

“Oh, I’m so glad you are better,” exclaimed the woman who knelt beside him.

She looked so kind and nice that Steve struggled to get up and further reassure her, but there seemed weights holding him down and a sharp pain thrust through and through his left arm.

“I am afraid you have broken your arm,” said the woman anxiously. “Nancy, you run right over to the store and get your father,” she said to the little girl. And Steve watched a white pinafore and flying yellow curls through a half-conscious dream mist, with a satisfied sense that he was at last in the new world of his visions.

And he was, for he had stumbled blindly through a bit of wood at the back of Mr. Follet’s, the station-master’s home, and just in time to rescue his little girl.

Mrs. Follet had heard the child’s screams, for the tree was in the edge of the wood only a little way from the house, and she reached the place just after Steve had fallen to the ground, having seen the child’s perilous position and Steve’s rescue. She had dampened her handkerchief in a near-by spring and worked over the boy until consciousness returned.

The little white pinafore was soon running back with Mr. Follet walking rapidly.

“What under the canopeedoes all this mean?” he asked excitedly as he came up, although Nancy61had told him about the accident. “Are you hurt much, boy?” he went on.

Steve heard what was said in a vague way, but he couldn’t reply and Mrs. Follet explained that she didn’t think the boy was fully conscious yet, and they would have to try to get him to the house.

So Mr. Follet, who was a small but very wiry man, soon had him up in his arms, while Mrs. Follet supported his head and together they carried him to the house and laid him down on a couch. Then Mrs. Follet quickly fixed him a hot drink and gave it slowly to him. With each swallow the sturdy boy felt stronger, and by the time he had taken a cup full, was able to talk freely.

“Where under the canopeedid you come from anyway? You don’t live hereabouts, do you?” asked Mr. Follet, who was of the restless, nervous temperament which must know things at once.

“Now, Pa,” said Mrs. Follet, “you must get the doctor to set his arm before you ask him anything,” and Mr. Follet started off.

Steve looked curiously at the arm hanging limply by his side. He had never seen a broken arm before though he had heard that arms and legs could break and be mended like hoe or ax handles.

By questioning, Mrs. Follet found that he had had62nothing to eat since the day before, so she prepared him a dainty meal which filled the mountain boy with wonder. There was a poached egg, a bit of toast and a cup of hot milk, none of which had he ever tasted or seen prepared before. But it all was very, very good, and as he ate Nancy slipped shyly into the room. She had stayed outside in frightened misery, feeling that all the trouble was her fault. Her mother said kindly:

“That’s right, child, come on in; our boy is better now.” The little girl sat down timidly on the edge of a chair, and Steve took in the complete vision.

Soft yellow locks strayed out from a ribbon and tumbled about before a pair of deep blue eyes. Round cheeks were pink and soft, sweet lips were red and shyly smiling, a white apron with ruffles almost covered a blue gingham dress. The boy held his breath at the beauty of the apparition. He had never dreamed of anything so sweet and pretty in all the world.

It was not long before Mr. Follet returned with the doctor and the broken arm was successfully set, Steve bearing the pain “like a trump,” as Mr. Follet put it. Then Mrs. Follet said he must go to bed at once, and he went up a tiny flight of stairs to a bed in a little attic chamber which she had made ready. Knowing the ways of mountain folk, Mrs. Follet did63not insist that he undress, as the task would be difficult for him with the broken arm. He slept soundly in spite of pain in the arm upon a remarkable bed “off the floor” and awoke feeling well, and eager to see again his new friends.

When he got down the stairs, Mrs. Follet was busy getting the breakfast, and Mr. Follet was ready with questions.

“Where under the canopee(which was a favourite expression with Mr. Follet) did you drap from yesterday, just in time to save our Nancy? You don’t live hereabouts, do you?”

“No,” said Steve, “I come from Hollow Hut.”

“And where’s that?” returned Mr. Follet.

Steve couldn’t tell very clearly, but gave an account of his long journey and told about the watch and the fox skin which he was going to take to the man in the city.

Mr. and Mrs. Follet were much interested in his story, so much so that they forgot the waiting breakfast. Then they turned to it, but Steve had remembered that he dropped his fox skin as he ran to Nancy’s rescue and he wanted to go at once for it, but Mrs. Follet would not let him go till he had eaten breakfast. The neatly laid table with its snowy cloth was a new wonder to Steve, and when the little girl, looking fresh and sweet as a rose, sat down opposite him, he was so awed and thrilled he could scarcely64eat. Angels could hardly have given him a more heavenly vision than did this little girl.

Breakfast over, Steve started at once for the fox skin, and Mrs. Follet sent Nancy with him to help find it. The little girl lost some of her shyness as they looked for the skin, and Steve listened to her chatter, feeling in a strange way that it was all a dream which he had had before, as we do sometimes in experiences which move us strongly.

They found the skin with little trouble, and when they had carried it back to the house, Mr. Follet took it up and carefully examined it.

“So you’re trying to get this here skin to the man in the city who sent the watch to you?”

“Yes,” said Steve.

“And you ain’t got hair or hide o’ the watch now?” continued Mr. Follet.

“No, I hain’t,” said the boy sorrowfully.

“Well, I’ll be sniggered,” said Mr. Follet. “And how under the canopeedo you expect to find him in the city when you git thar?”

The boy’s uncomprehending stare showed that he had no conception of a city, and Mr. Follet looked at his wife, laughed and went over to the station, which was station and store combined.

For a few days Steve continued to live in a dream. The house was a marvel to him. Mrs.65Follet cooked on a stove and constantly fixed strange, nice things to eat; a clock ticked on the mantel, which comforted him somewhat for the loss of his watch,––there were queer but to him surprisingly beautiful and comfortable pieces of furniture, and one room had a nice piece of good stout cloth with red and green flowers on it spread over the floor on which people walked!

Then marvel of marvels, every now and then that engine and great train of cars came puffing and hissing by the house in full view, and the boy’s spirits mounted on wings as he thought of the wonders of the world.

Even with one arm disabled, he took hold at once to help with the work about the place. He fed the chickens, horse and cow. With only one hand he could not learn to milk, though he was eager to do so. He went over to the store on errands and made himself useful in many ways.

One day when at the store he said to Mr. Follet that as soon as his arm was well he would have to be going on to the city to take the fox skin.

“And how under the canopeedo you expect to be ridin’ round on the railroad without money?” said Mr. Follet. He knew well the boy had none. “You ain’t a Rockefeller or a Jay Gould, air you?”

These allusions of course meant nothing to the66boy, and the question of money was a new one to him. None of his late friends in their simplicity had thought of it, and the man had to make clear the need of it in the business world which Steve had come into. With his people things had always been “swapped”; corn, tobacco and whiskey, for the few things they needed from a store, and he had seen very few pieces of money in his life.

“Now, how under the canopeeare you going to come up with the money?” asked Mr. Follet briskly, and with practical pertinence.

Steve certainly did not know and then Mr. Follet proposed that he stay with them through the summer, work for him and he would give him his board and clothes and pay him fifty cents a week.

Steve agreed readily and at once felt a new sense of responsibility and manliness.

When his arm was quite well Mrs. Follet gave him some long white garments which she called “nightshirts,” and told him to undress at night and wear them for sleeping! It was a very needless performance, he felt in his secret heart, but he had already learned to love the gentle woman and he would have done even more foolish things to please her. In fact, the thing which she gave him for brushing his hair seemed at first to bring him to the limit of acquiescence, but the bit of broken looking-glass stuck67in one of the timbers of his room soon told him that a little smoothing down of his tousled head made an immense difference in his looks, and somehow made him seem a little more worthy to be in Nancy’s presence.

The little girl had lessons at night from her mother in wonderful books, and Steve listened with rapt attention each time, beginning very soon to catch their meaning. It was not long till he had confided to Nancy how his “mammy” had wanted him to “larn things” too, and that was another reason why he was trying to get to the city.

“You’re going to school then,” said the little girl. “My mama teaches me, and some day she is going to send me to a big, big college.”

Mrs. Follet had been a school-teacher from the north in one of the small Kentucky towns, an orphan girl, who very young had been obliged to make her own way in the world. She had met Mr. Follet, and in one of those strange attractions between complete opposites in temperament and training, had married him. She was a quiet, refined and very kind-hearted woman. She would gladly have taught the boy, but finding that he did not know even his letters, she felt that with Nancy in the second reader, she could not take another pupil who was a beginner.

But when the lessons were going on in the evening68Steve soon began to spell over the words to himself as Nancy spelled them, and then it came about that often at odd times the brown shock of hair and the little yellow curls bent together over bits of paper, as the little girl pointed out and explained the make-up of the letters to the big boy.

“Don’t you see, Steve, this little chicken coop with a piece across it is big A, and this one with the piece standing up and two curly things at the side is big B.” The peculiarities of similar letters were discussed, how the bottom curly thing in big R turned the other way, while P didn’t have any bottom curly thing at all, and F didn’t have any bottom cross piece, while E did.

“See here,” said Steve, growing alert, “here’s a powerful nice gate; whut’s that?”

“Oh, that’s big H,” said Nancy, “and wriggly, twisty S is just the prettiest letter of all, I think. Oh, Steve, that is the letter which begins your name,” said she, in generous, childish joy.

“Is that so?” exclaimed Steve, with eager pleasure because she was pleased. “And which is the one whut begins yourn?”

“Oh, mine is just two straight standing up pieces with a slanting piece between. It’s one kind of a gate but not just like H,” and she hunted out an N to show him.

“Ithink that’s the prettiest letter of all,” said Steve, with unconscious gallantry. “Whar’s the other letters in yo’ name?” he inquired, and Nancy hunted them all out. Then she found the other letters in his name, and Steve had an undefined disappointment that his name did not have a single letter in it which belonged to her name. It seemed to shut him out more completely from the things which belonged to her.

So the lessons went on from the little girl to the big boy, and Mrs. Follet was amazed one day to find that Steve could read quite well. He studied every book and paper within reach as he found time, though he never neglected his duties.

Corn was constantly brought Mr. Follet in exchange for goods at the store, and one of Steve’s duties was to take the old horse with two big bags of corn over to the Greely mill to be ground into meal. Nancy was mounted upon the old horse in front of the bags to show Steve the way on his first trip, and afterwards she always begged to go. To Steve it was the greatest joy to take the little girl with him, though he wouldn’t have dared ask it. He taught her to put her small foot in his hand while he sturdily lifted her to the old white mare’s back, and on the return she stepped down into his palm with equal ease.

The way to the mill lay along the road for a time, and then a short cut was made across what was known as the Greely Ridge. It was a steep cliff of rugged woodland, and both Nancy and Steve enjoyed the trip through the woods, Steve walking close beside the horse and the two chatting all the way. He told the little girl such interesting things about birds and squirrels, rabbits and foxes.

“Don’t you wish we were birds,” said Nancy one day, “so we could fly way off and see lots of things?”

“Yes,” said Steve, “I shore do; then I could find Mr. Polk and give him his fox skin.” The thought of getting to Mr. Polk was always in his mind, and though the little girl knew all about it she wanted to hear again how Steve got the skin and about that wonderful day in the woods when he met Mr. Polk, and the beautiful watch that the robbers took.

“When you find Mr. Polk and learn to make watches and things, like your mother wanted you to, you will make one just like yours for me, won’t you, Steve?”

“Yes, I shore will,” said Steve earnestly, never doubting that he would keep his promise.

There was nothing Steve would not attempt for her pleasure. He went to the tops of trees after some vacant bird nest or hanging flower, he chased rabbits and hunted squirrels that she might get a glimpse of them.

The Old Greely Mill

“Some day, Steve,” said Nancy innocently, “let’s build us a house and live here always; we do have such good times when we come to this wood.”

Steve replied again, “Yes, I shore will,” and neither dreamed what the wood was hiding for them to be revealed, far out in the veiled future.

When they reached the mill, Mr. and Mrs. Greely were always so glad to see them. They had no children of their own and they liked the straightforward, dependable boy, while the little girl with her sweet, shy ways, was always a delight. Mrs. Greely would often stop her spinning to get a little treat for them, which they would eat while the corn was being ground, and going to mill came to make four people happy each trip.

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