under the dogwood tree; listened to the answer to his
call and felt his heart throb with such force that his lips drew close
with the pain of joy. For a few moments he gazed and struggled for
self-control but great waves of happiness and delight overpowered him.
He dared not move, but he sent a swift prayer to heaven--a prayer for
guidance in a new life amid the old home-scenes for which his faithful
heart had yearned while he had wandered far.

Cynthia's quick ears caught the rustle of the bushes across The Way and
instantly her face changed and her hand gripped something in a little
bag at her side. The stranger thought it wisest to step out. This he
did with a laugh of understanding.

"Oh!" exclaimed Cynthia Walden, "I certainly do beg your pardon.
I--thought--I thought you were Smith Crothers."

The sudden fear wrung this candid confession from the girl. "I reckon
you don't know Smith Crothers."

"I--I've heard of him recently."

"I expect," Cynthia was full of interest now. "I expect you are the
man from the North."

"You are quite right."

"Now I'm right sorry you didn't get here fifteen minutes ago."

The stranger's face flushed under its tan and the broad felt hat, in
the right hand, shook perceptibly.

"Mr. Martin Morley has gone down The Way to see you. He reckons you
will give him a job."

At this the man leaned heavily against a pine tree and stared at the
girl. Had he heard aright? For months he had believed Martin Morley
was dead--long dead!

"Yes, Mr. Morley was just here talking about the new factory up in the
mountain."

To hear Cynthia say mountain was to love the high places better all the
days of your life. So lingeringly and tenderly did the soft voice deal
with the vowels and consonants that they suggested all the beauty and
strength of the hills. The man opposite closed his eyes from sheer
delight while the word sank into his consciousness and filled the empty
places of his heart.

"He'll miss you, I reckon, but could you save a job for him?"

"I can and--will." The man opened his eyes and courageously walked
across The Way and stood still, hat in hand, before the girl. He was
tall and broad and good to look upon and youth went out to youth
cordially and frankly.

"I reckon"--the homely word took the place of the Yankee "guess"
naturally, "I reckon you are--Miss Cynthia Walden?"

"Yes." Cynthia's eyes shone. "Who--told you?"

"I heard about you." This was very