ing his stay as he
used to do when a boy. Then he went on foot down the mountainside to
his old home in the hollow, little dreaming, as he passed along its
rocky fastness, that a "still" was hidden there.

It was just dusk of an early June day, and cool shadows dropped their
soft curtains about the old log house as he walked towards the door
unannounced. He stopped a moment at the grave of his father and
mother, and then followed noiselessly the little worn path to the
cabin. As he drew near, he saw the fitful light of blazing pine-knots
on the hearth and caught the sound of boisterous laughter. Reaching
the door he stood a moment in the shadow of the outer darkness, before
stepping into the light. Then,--what he saw transfixed him! White to
the lips he watched a moment.

A group of men, Mirandy's husband among them, surrounded a little
fellow about six years old, who, having been made reeling drunk, was
trying to walk a crack in the floor. The little victim swayed and
tottered and struggled under the hilarious urging of his spectators.

[Illustration: "Hit's Champ fer his pappy"]

Steve's first mad impulse was to snatch up the wronged child, and, if
necessary, face the half-drunken men in battle. But this would be
worse than useless his second sober thought told him, for there stood
Mirandy looking carelessly on from the kitchen door behind. The child
was doubtless hers, and the father was taking part in the revolting
deed! What could he do? He knew they would brook no interference.

With hard-won self-control he stepped upon the threshold, courteously
lifted his hat and bade them "Good-evening."

Instantly the men turned and pistols clicked, for they thought him a
revenue officer; but Mirandy, looking into his still boyish face which
had caught the light, while his unfamiliar figure was in shadow,
exclaimed:

"Don't shoot! Hit's Steve, my little buddie Steve!" And she stepped
across the room to him in a way which showed she was capable of being
stirred into action sometimes.

The men looked uncertain, but Mirandy's husband, peering into Steve's
face a moment, said:

"Yes, that's right, hit's Steve Langly, though I'd nuver knowed ye in
the world," and the other men dropped back.

The child in the centre of the room looked about with dull eyes, then
dropped to the floor in a pitiful little drunken heap.

With his heart wrung to the point of agony, Steve stepped forward and
stooping down lifted it tenderly