rt and smiled and dreamed. Things just
were! There was no perspective, no contrast--the sun was always
flooding her hours with the one small, white cloud of Sandy's marked
passage in the "Pilgrim's Progress," to sail across her sky now and
then. Treadwell did not surprise or shock her. He seemed a big,
splendid happening from the world beyond the mountains. He was strong
and pleasant and made one laugh, but he would go presently and they
would talk about him as they talked about Sheridan's raid and Smith
Crothers' fire--he was not part of Lost Mountain!

Cynthia, nevertheless, walked with Lans Treadwell through the trails,
and once they had followed the Branch and come upon the new factory
near The Forge. The girl told Treadwell of the fire, but she
eliminated herself utterly from the story. She understood better now
than she once had--her part in that snowy night. Then they spoke of
Sandy and his hopes.

It was a gray, still day when they so freely discussed Sandy, and they
were strolling up from Trouble Neck to the Morley cabin; Miss Lowe and
Sandy were to meet them there later, coming from an opposite direction.

"Yes, Sandy is right noble," Cynthia said softly; "he was born, I
reckon, to do a mighty big thing. When he was little it seemed like
God said, 'Sandy Morley, I choose you!' There never was any one like
Sandy."

Treadwell scanned the face near him, but saw only admiration and pride,
detached and pure.

"We-all just waited like we were holding our breaths till he came
marching up The Way. I can laugh now, Mr. Lans, but the morning I saw
him first I was standing right there"--she pointed to the tree by the
road where she had listened to Sandy's bird call--"and he came along,
and when I knew that that big man was--my Sandy that went all raggedy
down The Way years before--I expect I hated him! It seemed like he had
stolen the nice boy, eaten him up and swallowed him! But no one hates
Sandy. We-all want to do something big and fine. Why, every time I
look at him, Mr. Lans, I feel like I must show him how glad I am
he--well, he didn't swallow the old Sandy whole!"

Treadwell laughed delightedly.

"He's mighty good to get near to when you feel--troubled," Cynthia
added; "and, too, you feel like you wanted to keep him from hurting
himself!"

"How well you put it!" Treadwell's face grew serious. He recalled his
hour of confession in Sandy's study and felt an honest glow of
appreciation.