regon. Chairman Gay wrote a letter advising Plant to
"adopt a policy of conciliation toward the turbulent element."

XIX

Shortly after Bob's return in the early spring, George Pollock rode to
Auntie Belle's in some disorder to say that the little girl, now about a
year old, had been taken sick.

"Jenny has a notion it's something catching," said he, "so she won't let
Jim send Mary over. There's too many young-uns in that family to run any
risks."

"How does she seem?" called Auntie Belle from the bedroom where she was
preparing for departure.

"She's got a fever, and is restless, and won't eat," said George
anxiously. "She looks awful sick to me."

"They all do at that age," said Auntie Belle comfortably; "don't you
worry a mite."

Nevertheless Auntie Belle did not return that day, nor the next, nor the
next. When finally she appeared, it was only to obtain certain supplies
and clothes. These she caused to be brought out and laid down where she
could get them. She would allow nobody to come near her.

"It's scarlet fever," she said, "and Lord knows where the child got it.
But we won't scatter it, so you-all stay away. I'll do what I can. I've
been through it enough times, Lord knows."

Three days later she appeared again, very quietly.

"How's the baby?" asked Bob. "Better, I hope?"

"The poor little thing is dead," said Auntie Belle shortly, "and I want
you or somebody to ride down for the minister."

The community attended the funeral in a body. It was held in the open
air, under a white oak tree, for Auntie Belle, with unusual caution and
knowledge for the mountains, refused to permit even a chance of
spreading the contagion. The mother appeared dazed. She sat through the
services without apparent consciousness of what was going on; she
suffered herself to be led to the tiny enclosure where all the Pollocks
of other generations had been buried; she allowed herself to be led away
again. There was in the brief and pathetic ceremony no meaning and no
pain for her. The father, on the other hand, seemed crushed. So broken
was his figure that, after the services, Bob was impelled to lay his
hand on the man's shoulder and mutter a few incoherent but encouraging
words. The mountaineer looked up dully, but sharpened to comprehension
and gratitude as his eyes met those of the tall, vigorous young man
leaning over him.

"I mean it," said Bob; "any time--any place."

On the way back to Sycamore Flats A