in.

"Dearest!"

CHAPTER IV.

A day full of light--warm and brilliant. The sun flooding the wide
fields of timothy and clover and fresh young grain with glory; falling
with a soft radiance upon the comfortable mansion of the master of
Hollywood Farm, with its spacious barns and long stretches of stabling,
and throwing loving glances among the leaves of its deep belt of
woodland where the river sparkled and soft rugs of moss spread their
rich luxuriance over an aesthetic carpet of resinous pine needles.

Near the limits of Hollywood the forest made a sudden curve to the
right, and the river, turned from its course, rushed, laughing and
eager, over a ridge of rocks which tossed it in the air in sheets of
silver spray.

Standing there, leaning upon a gun, a boy of about seventeen looked long
at a squirrel whose mangled body was staining the emerald beauty of the
moss with crimson. His face was earnest and troubled, while the
expression of sorrowful contempt which swept over it, made him seem
older than he was. It was a strong face, with deep-set, thoughtful eyes
which lit up wondrously when he was interested or pleased. His mouth was
sensitive but his chin was firm and his brown hair fell in soft waves
over a broad, full brow. People always took it for granted that John
Randolph would be as good as his word. They never reasoned about it.
They simply expected it of him.

He began to speak, and his voice fell clear and distinct through the
silence.

"And you call this sport?" There was no answer save the soft gurgle of
the river as it splashed merrily over the stones.

"You are a brute, John Randolph!" And the wind sighed a plaintive echo
among the trees.

He was silent while the words which he had read six weeks before and
which had been ringing a ceaseless refrain in his heart ever since,
obtruded themselves upon his memory.

"It is the privilege of everyone to become an exact copy of Jesus
Christ."

"Well, John Randolph, can you picture to yourself Jesus Christ shooting
a squirrel for sport?" He tossed aside the weapon he had been leaning
upon with a gesture of disgust, and, folding his arms, looked up at the
cloud-flecked sky.

"Are you there, Jesus Christ?" he asked wistfully. "Are you looking
down on this poor old world, and what do you think of it all? Men made
in God's image finding their highest enjoyment in slaughtering his
creatures. Game Preserves where they can do it in luxurious leisure;