e day come creeping. There was Paul--but, at the thought
of Paul with his strong imagination and his weak muscles, Ham laughed.
If he went away he must go without consent or parental blessing; he must
slip away in the night with his few possessions packed in his battered
bag. Very well; if that were the only way, it must be his way. The
voices were calling--always calling--and it might as well be tonight.
Destiny is impatient of temporizing. Yes, tonight he would start out
there, somewhere, where the battles were a man's battles, and the
rewards a man's rewards.

But at the door his mother met him. There was a moisture of unshed tears
in her eyes, and she spoke in the appeal of dependence--dependence upon
her eldest son who had never failed her.

"Son, your father's in bed--he's had some sort of stroke. He's feelin'
mighty low in his mind, an' he says he's played out with the fight of
all these years. I told him that he needn't fret himself because we have
you. You've always been so strong an' manly--even when you were a little
feller. You'd better see him, Ham, an' cheer him up. Tell him you can
take right hold an' run the farm."

Ham turned away a face suddenly drawn. A lemon afterglow hung above the
hills, and where it darkened into the evening sky, a single star shone
in a feeble point of light. It was setting--not rising--and to the boy
it seemed to be his star.

"I'll go in and see him," he said curtly.

Thomas Burton lay on his bed with his face turned to the wall. When his
son entered, he raised it and shifted it so that the yellow light of an
oil lamp shone on it above the faded quilt.

It was a hopeless, beaten face, and for the first time in his life Ham
saw the calloused hand which crept out to his own shake feebly.

He took it, and the father said slowly:

"Ham, somehow I feel like an old hoss that just goes as long as he can
an' then lays down. Right often he don't get up no more. It's a hard
fight for a boy to take up, this fight with rocks and poor soil, but I
guess you'll have to tackle it. I didn't quit so long as I could keep
goin'."

The boy nodded. He composed his face and answered steadily: "I guess you
can depend on me."

But outside by the barn fence he set down his milk-pail a few minutes
later and in the coming night his face twitched and blackened.

"So after all," Ham told himself bitterly, "I've got to stay."

He reached out mechanically and began loosing the top bar from its