"Boys," he said, his voice hoarse and broken, but distinctly audible
over the crowd, "he died because he wouldn't go back on his friend. He
gave me this." He took from his breast the New Testament, held it up and
carried it reverently to his lips. "I'm a-goin' to follow that trail."

Two thousand miles and more they carried him home to his mother, and
then to the old churchyard, where he sleeps still, forgotten, perhaps,
even by many who had known and played with him in his boyhood, but
remembered by the men of the mountains who had once felt the touch of
that strong love that gave the best and freely for their sakes, and for
His Whom it was his pride and joy to call Master and Friend.

XXIV

FOR LOVE'S SAKE

Again it was June, and over all the fields Nature's ancient miracle had
been wrought. The trees by the snake fences stood in the full pride of
their rich leafage, casting deep shadows on the growing grains. As of
old, the Mill lane, with its velvet grassy banks, ran between snake
fences, sweet-scented, cool, and shaded. Between the rails peeped the
clover, red and white. Over the top rail nodded the rich berries of the
dogwood, while the sturdy thorns held bravely aloft their hard green
clusters waiting the sun's warm passion. The singing voices of summer
were all a-throb, filling the air with great antiphonies of praise, till
this good June day was fairly wild with the sheer joy of life.

At the crest of the hill Margaret paused. This was Barney's spot. "I'll
wait here," she said to herself, a faint flush lighting up the chaste
beauty of her face. But the hot sun beat down upon her with his fierce
rays. "I must get into the shade," she said, climbed the fence, and, on
the fragrant masses of red clover, threw herself down in the shade of
the thorn tree. On this spot, how vividly the past came to her. How well
she remembered the heartache of that day so long ago. The ache would
never quite be gone, but with it mingled now a sweetness that only love
knows how to distil from pity where trust is and high esteem.

A year had passed since she had sent Dick back alone to his work,
remaining herself to bring the lonely hearts of the Old Mill such help
and comfort as she could. At the parting with him, Barney's words, "Take
care of Dick for me," had moved her to offer with shy courage to go back
with him. But Dick was far too generous to avail himself of any such
persuasion.

"You must not come to me for pit