ot clasp of the young hand that she laid upon
him, the sweet earnestness of the face that leaned toward him. It was a
strange fight, a battle of vast forces. He began to shake like an aspen
leaf, but his eyes lifted to hers presently, to drink from them as from
a fountain of life. His lips moved.

"Just to have peace," he gasped hoarsely, "take that letter--take it
from my pocket--send it to Steering."

"Father!" It was the cry of victory well won. "Father! I am so glad!"
over and over again. "All my life, Father, I have expected the good
thing to happen because of you, the right thing, I am so glad!"
Laughing, crying, she kissed him, took the letter and stole to the door.
"Piney shall be its bearer," she cried as she went, "Piney shall take
it; he will say the very best that there is to say!"

She ran out, and the door swung quickly behind her, so that she did not
see that he put his hand over his empty pocket and held his heart with a
great relief; then pitched forward suddenly, his head on the desk, a
look of late-come, profound peace on his face.

_Chapter Seventeen_

JUST A BOY

It was not quite dark when Piney left Miss Sally Madeira in the garden
back of Madeira Place, the Grierson letter in the inside band of his
hat. The pretty spring day had closed in grey and sullen, and a high
wind tore through the bluffs. Up in Canaan people were going anxiously
to their windows, and trying to decide what was about to happen out
there in that whirl of dust and wind and high-spattering rain. Down at
Madeira Place it was grey, windy, and damp, but the rain had not come on
yet. Piney went down the bridle-path from the Madeira grounds and out
into the river road at a gallop, and the pony sped on like mad toward
the little shack down stream at Redbud. All the way Piney kept a watch
on the Di, which was sucking and booming. Long before he reached Redbud
the boy had begun to hope that Steering had not put through his evening
programme to that last number of going back to Redbud by water, after
the haunting visit to the waters about Madeira Place. The river seemed
very black and restless with the long urge of the spring rains within
her. Now and again, he called loudly, prompted by some fear, he knew not
what:

"Steerin'! Steerin'! Steerin'!"

He reached Redbud by and by, to find no Steering, only the little empty
shack. The lean bunks, swaddled roughly in their bedding, looked
strangely deserted. Piney sat down o