ng
back, Dad, coming back to help! Wait for me, Dad, and hold tight for
me--so I'll be glad. Dear, dear, old Dad!"

Then Sandy turned and set his face toward The Appointed Way. It had
been hard to see Cynthia flee from him, leaving him lonely and
forsaken; but it was harder now to leave the sad, broken father in the
desolate blackness of night--and enter the new, hard life alone! But
with never a backward look Sandford Morley went to meet his fate.

Martin stood and listened until the last sound dropped into silence.
Then he went back. It was pitchy dark when he reached the cabin.
There were mutterings of thunder in the distance again, and the odour
of scorched meal in the air. Mary, with Molly hanging to her, stood by
the rough table in the middle of the room.

"Did you find him?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And you----"

Martin turned and the look on his face silenced the woman.

"That boy," he said slowly, "belongs to me, do you understand? Keep
your tongue off him--your hands will never touch him again. He's mine
and God Almighty's from now on. You've starve him and beat him for the
last time and now--never speak his name again. He's mine and
God's--and his mother's!"

Martin was spent. He dropped into a chair and, folding his arms upon
the back, bent his head upon them.

Then Mary's wrath broke.

"He's yours, is he?" she sneered, shaking her child off and striding
toward the bowed figure--"he's yours and God's and his mother's! He
belongs to a fine lot, doesn't he, the ungrateful little beast? And
I'm to keep my tongue off him, eh? Ain't I good enough for him and you
and the high company you belong to?"

Resentment old and rankling rose fiercely. What ever she had been and
was, Mary clung to Morley faithfully according to her light and she
writhed under the sting of the implied insult hurled at her now.

Morley did not move. A sense of desolation swept over him. He was
following the trail of the lonely boy in the dark and the woman's
infuriated words meant no more to him than the rumbling thunder.

"Who do I and mine belong to?" the tense voice went on; "to the devil I
suppose! Well, then, Mart Morley, you listen to me now. This
child"--she turned fiercely toward Molly--"is yours, mine and the
devil's. You're a lazy lot that left us to starve or live as we could,
but the devil has taken a hand in the game, do you hear? I reckon
he'll see us through and no thanks to you! From now on y