d, and just now a bit anxious, flashed out of
the dark.

"Oh, please, sir, if you would speak lower," pleaded the boy. "He's so
tired! I'm David, sir, and that's father. We came in here to rest and
sleep."

Simeon Holly's unrelenting gaze left the boy's face and swept that of
the man lying back on the hay. The next instant he lowered the lantern
and leaned nearer, putting forth a cautious hand. At once he
straightened himself, muttering a brusque word under his breath. Then
he turned with the angry question:--

"Boy, what do you mean by playing a jig on your fiddle at such a time
as this?"

"Why, father asked me to play" returned the boy cheerily. "He said he
could walk through green forests then, with the ripple of brooks in his
ears, and that the birds and the squirrels--"

"See here, boy, who are you?" cut in Simeon Holly sternly. "Where did
you come from?"

"From home, sir."

"Where is that?"

"Why, home, sir, where I live. In the mountains, 'way up, up, up--oh,
so far up! And there's such a big, big sky, so much nicer than down
here." The boy's voice quivered, and almost broke, and his eyes
constantly sought the white face on the hay.

It was then that Simeon Holly awoke to the sudden realization that it
was time for action. He turned to his wife.

"Take the boy to the house," he directed incisively. "We'll have to
keep him to-night, I suppose. I'll go for Higgins. Of course the whole
thing will have to be put in his hands at once. You can't do anything
here," he added, as he caught her questioning glance. "Leave everything
just as it is. The man is dead."

"Dead?" It was a sharp cry from the boy, yet there was more of wonder
than of terror in it. "Do you mean that he has gone--like the water in
the brook--to the far country?" he faltered.

Simeon Holly stared. Then he said more distinctly:--

"Your father is dead, boy."

"And he won't come back any more?" David's voice broke now.

There was no answer. Mrs. Holly caught her breath convulsively and
looked away. Even Simeon Holly refused to meet the boy's pleading eyes.

With a quick cry David sprang to his father's side.

"But he's here--right here," he challenged shrilly. "Daddy, daddy,
speak to me! It's David!" Reaching out his hand, he gently touched his
father's face. He drew back then, at once, his eyes distended with
terror. "He isn't! He is--gone," he chattered frenziedly. "This isn't
the father-part that KNOWS. It's the other--that the