what the
future held for him--what this little spot might mean to him in the days
to come? That he would go out, fully recovered and strong to play his
part in life, he never doubted. Might not this idyl be a part of it? He
thought of the girl sitting at her loom, swaying as she threw her
shuttle with the rhythm of a poem, and weaving--weaving his life and his
heart into her web, unknown to herself--weaving a thread of joy through
it all which as yet she could not see. He knocked the ashes from his
pipe and stood a moment gazing about him.

Yes, he really must have a vineyard, and a bit of pasture somewhere, and
a field of clover. What grew best there he little knew, so he decided to
go up and consult the widow.

There were other things also to claim his thoughts. Over toward "Wild
Cat Hole" there was a woman who needed his care; and he must not become
so absorbed in his pastoral romance as to forget Hoyle. He was looking
actually haggard these last few days, and his mother said he would not
eat. It might be that he needed more than the casual care he was giving
him. Possibly he could take him to Doctor Hoyle's hospital for radical
treatment later in the season, when his crops were well started. He
smiled as he thought of his crops, then laughed outright, and strolled
back to the house, weary and hungry, and happy as a boy.

"Well, now, I like the look of ye," called the old mother from the
porch, where she still sat. "'Pears like it's done ye good a-ready to
turn planter. The' hain't nothin' better'n the smell o' new sile fer
them 'at's consumpted."

"Mother," cried Cassandra from within, "don't call the doctor that! Come
up and have dinner with us, Doctor." She set a chair for him as she
spoke, but he would not. As he stood below them, looking up and
exchanging merry banter with her mother, he laughed his contagious
laugh.

"I bet he's tired," shrilled Hoyle, from his perch on the porch roof.
"He be'n settin' on the fence smokin' an' rubbin' his hade with his
handkercher like he'd had enough with his ploughin'. You can nigh about
beat him, Cass. Hisn didn't look no better'n what yourn looked."

"Here, you young rascal you, come down from there," cried David.
Catching him by the foot, which hung far enough over to be within reach
of his long arm, he pulled him headlong from his high position and
caught him in mid-air. "Now, how shall I punish you?"

"Ye bettah whollop him. He hain't nevah been switched good in