d me a
good driving horse," said he.

"He said if you done well," she told him, brightening as she clutched at
that small stay of justification, "he'd let you work this place on
shares till you paid off the loan. That was one reason----"

"Of course," said Joe, a cheerfulness in his voice which his pale cheeks
did not sustain, "that was one thing I had in mind when I spoke. It'll
all come out right. You've done the wisest thing there was to be done,
Mother, and I'll fulfill your agreement to the last day."

"You're a brave boy, Joe; you're a credit to the memory of your pap,"
said she.

"I'll go over to Isom's early in the morning," said Joe, quite
sprightly, as if the arrangement had indeed solved all their troubles.
He stretched his arms with a prodigious yawn. "You don't need to bother
about getting up and fixing breakfast for me, for I'll get some over
there."

"I hope he'll give you enough," said she.

"Don't you worry over me," he counseled kindly, "for I'll be all right
at Isom's. Sunday I'll come home and see you. Now, you take a good sleep
in the morning and don't bother."

"I'll be up before you leave," said she, her eyes overflowing with
tears. "Do you reckon I could lie and sleep and slumber when my last and
only livin' one's goin' away to become a servant in the house of
bondage? And I sold you to it, Joe, my own flesh and blood!"

There had been little tenderness between them all their days, for in
such lives of striving, poverty too often starves affection until it
quits the board. But there was a certain nobility of loyalty which
outlived the narrowness of their lot, and certain traditions of chivalry
in the Newbolt heritage which now guided Joe's hand to his mother's head
as she sat weeping and moaning with her arms flung upon the disordered
table.

"It'll be all right, Mother," he cheered her, "and the time will soon
pass away. What are two years to me? Not much more than a month or two
to an old man like Isom. I tell you, this plan's the finest thing in the
world for you and me, Mother--don't you grieve over it that way."

She was feeling the comfort of his cheerfulness when he left her to go
to bed, although she was sore in conscience and spirit, sore in mind and
heart.

"The Lord never gave any woman a son like him," said she as the sound of
Joe's steps fell quiet overhead, "and I've sold him into slavery and
bondage, just to save my own unworthy, coward'y, sneakin' self!"

CHA