was relegated to
an old outhouse for sleeping quarters. The child had been horribly
frightened at first, but, as the quarrels and disturbances grew in
power between Martin and the woman, he was grateful for the quiet and
detachment of his bed-chamber. A child was born to Mary and Martin
during the year following the change in the family, but Sandy looked
upon his half-sister with little interest. That the boy was not driven
entirely from the home place was due to the fact that through him came
the only money available. Martin exchanged his spasmodic labour for
clothing or food, but Sandy brought cash. Mary thought he gave her
all, and because of that he was tolerated.

Sandy did not, however, give the woman all, or even half, of what he
earned. He gave her one third; the rest was placed in a tin box and
hidden under a rock in the woods beyond the Branch. The boy never
counted the money, he could not put himself to that test of
discouragement or elation. The time was not yet, and it was
significant of him that he plodded along, doing the best that was in
him, until the call came; the last final call to leave all and go forth.

Once, during the years between seven and fourteen, Sandy had had an
awakening and a warning. Then it was that his half-sister, Molly,
became a distinct and potent factor in his life; one with which he must
reckon. Going to the rock on a certain evening to bury his share of
the day's profit he wearily raised the stone, deposited the money and
turned to go home, when he encountered Molly peering at him with elfish
and menacing eyes from behind a bush.

"What you doing there, yo' Sandy?" she asked half coaxingly, half
threateningly.

"Nothing."

"I seen you--a-hiding something. I'm going to look!" She made a
movement forward.

"Hyar! you Molly!" Sandy clung to her. "If you raise that stone 'twill
be the last of you. I've got a horned toad there and--a poison
sarpint."

"Then I'll--I'll tell Dad." Molly shrank back, though not wholly
convinced. It was time for compromise, and Sandy, with a sickening
fear, recognized it and blindly fell upon the one thing that could have
swayed the girl.

"I'm a-training and taming them," he lied desperately, "and when they
are ready we-all can make money out of them, but if you tell--Dad will
kill 'em! I tell you, Molly, if you don't say a single thing
I'll--I'll give you a cent every week. A cent to buy candy with!"

The promise was give