one, the older man sat in thought for awhile, and, when
next his voice broke the silence, it was in a much softened timbre, a
voice tinged with tenderness.

"Mother," he called in an undertone, and the woman who had borne his
children and stood shoulder to shoulder with him through the years of
fight, came over and knelt at his knee. He took her hand and held it for
a while in silence, and then he said a little brokenly: "Mother, when we
first came here from the little church down there, this house looked
pretty good to us, didn't it?"

"To me, Tom," she said softly, "it has always looked good."

"Do you remember," he went on irrelevantly, "when we brought that slip
of vine from the mountain and planted it by the porch? It's over the
roof now."

The woman only pressed his hand; and after a moment he went on.

"There are a couple of graves out there in the churchyard that I'd hate
mightily to leave."

"The two we lost," she whispered.

"An' yet maybe if we stay here we'll lose 'em all." Tom Burton was
making a decided effort to hold his voice steady.

"Don't--don't, Tom," protested the woman.

"When you married me, Elizabeth," he went on with the air of one
resolved to take full account, "I reckon you could have done a good deal
better, it's been a long fight here an' a hard one."

"I've been happy," she told him.

"Your hand was right slim then, an' now it's hard from work. To me,
there ain't no other hand as beautiful, mother, but there's no use
denying that we can't hold out much longer, unless the children stand by
an' help us."

"They will, Tom. They will. Ham may talk, but he won't desert."

"I know that, but the question is, have we got the right to hold them
here? Is Ham raving, or is he right? That's the question you an' me
have got to decide, mother."

"Do you think, Tom," she demanded, rising and anxiously looking at him,
"do you think that even if we had all the things money could give
us--we'd be any happier in the long run? Life's been hard with us, but
it's always been wholesome."

"I'm contented, mother, but what does well enough for old blood may not
satisfy the young. It ain't the first time I've thought about this
thing. They're quittin' all round us, an' they're quittin' because
they're beat. I've always thought this country could be redeemed. If
boys like Ham thought so, too, it might be done, but it takes young
blood, and if a feller's heart ain't in it, he can't do it."

Her on