e soft voice,
wrung Sandy's heart.

"I'm sorry I hated the little doctor for teaching you, Sandy. She
helped you--to--to come back quicker, only I did not know then. She'll
help me now, I reckon, to be ready for you. Sandy, I just couldn't see
you go down The Way! You stand here like you were going to stay on
forever and I'll run down the trail. I won't look back once, Sandy,
but--kiss me good-bye."

It was the little Cyn of the past playful days who pleaded so
pathetically--forgetting caste and dividing line. The little Cyn who
had always clung to her comrade when danger or fear threatened; but
behind the childish words rang the woman's alluring sweetness--the
woman little Cyn was some time to be. By a mighty effort Sandy Morley
bent and kissed the pretty upturned mouth. The rough, unlovely
clothing could not disguise the dignity of the stiff, boyish form; the
bluish bruise on his face grew darker as the hot blood surged through
it, but the clear, boyish eyes were frank and simple at last as the:

"Good-bye, Cynthia!" rang sharply.

There was one look more, full of brave sorrow, then Cynthia turned
abruptly and ran like a wild thing of the woods into the shadow of the
pines.

Sandy stood and watched her, with his thin face twitching miserably,
until the sound of her going died away; then he groaned and bent to
pick up the box of money that had lain unheeded while bigger things had
been conceived and born. Slowly, mechanically he counted the small
fortune to the last piece, then he placed two half dollars in the box
and left it where any one could easily find it. Poor Sandy was beyond
suffering now, or indeed beyond any sensation except that of dull
action. His head was aching excruciatingly; fever throbbed in his body
and a heavy weariness overcame him. He would rest before he went to
his father!

Sinking to the ground he leaned against the tree under which Cynthia
had stood and, for a moment, lost consciousness.

CHAPTER V

"So you've come home to be fed, eh?"

Martin Morley slunk into a chair and eyed the woman by the cook-stove
ingratiatingly.

"I sho' have," he replied; "it smells like ash cakes, and I've brought
a bucket of buttermilk from ole Mis' Walden's place. She certainly is
a techersome woman but a powerful good manager."

"Where's the buttermilk?"

"Outside the do'!"

"Run and fetch it, Molly."

The child, glaring at Martin, sprang to do her mother's bidding and as
s