believe Sandy's like
that. He's just waiting 'till he has a mighty fine something to bring
back to us-all, and then we'll see him coming up The Way as brave and
smiling as can be."

Martin shook his head slowly.

"I don' doubt it, lil' Miss Cynthia. It's seven long years now! I've
taken a right smart heap of comfort mending up the cabin and painting
it and planting vines and flowers about. It has been the happiness
I've allowed myself--getting ready for Sandy that ain't never coming!
Good morning, just wish me luck 'bout the job. The getting ready means
something even if you don't ever get what you're making ready for."

And with this Martin Morley went down The Way toward The Forge to seek
his luck with the stranger who had arrived a few days before to begin
operations on a certain piece of land which had been bought by a
man--no one could recall his name--seven years ago!

Cynthia stood under the trees by the road after Martin left and fell
into a reverie. It was early. By walking a little faster she could
reach Trouble Neck in time for the possible pupils, and the lure of the
morning held her. Looking up to catch more distinctly the note of a
bird, she noticed how white and splendid the dogwood flowers were on
the tree under which she stood.

"They certainly do look like stars!" she whispered. The day seemed
pulsing with thoughts of Sandy Morley! Not for years had he been so in
her mind. To be sure the hole in the tree near Stoneledge was quite
filled with letters written to an imaginary somebody called, for
convenience, Sandy--the "Biggest of Them All." But Cynthia's ideal
bore little likeness to the actual Sandy, and her letters had become
but the outpourings of a heart that must create its own Paradise or
perish. Sandy Morley had faded into an indistinct blur, but the
romance he had awakened bore the girl far and away from the common life
of The Hollow.

"I thought," the uplifted face glowed rosily; "I thought I heard--a new
note! Some strange bird!" Then, with a toss of the head which threw
the broad brimmed hat back on the shoulders, "I must be getting right
daffy! That's the bird Sandy Morley used to copy mighty cleverly. I
could do it myself once--I wonder!" The pretty lips curved
deliciously, and an effort was made to reproduce the sound. Sweetly,
faintly it trilled and ended in a light laugh.

From the underbrush lower down beside The Way, a young man looked at
the upraised face