neighborhood ever."

He held up his big hand to the man on the horse; "Good-by, and
good luck to you, Ollie." The horses turned down the Old Trail and
with their riders, passed from sight.

That night Sammy Lane said farewell to her lover, and, with many
promises for the future, Ollie rode away to his cabin home, to
leave the next morning for that world that lies so far--so far
away from the world of Young Matt and his friends, the world that
is so easy to get into after all, and so impossible to get out of
ever.

CHAPTER XII.

THE SHEPHERD AND HIS FLOCK.

All that spring and summer things went smoothly in the Mutton
Hollow neighborhood. The corn was ready to gather, and nothing had
happened at the ranch since Mr. Howitt took charge, while the man,
who had appeared so strangely in their midst, had made a large
place for himself in the hearts of the simple mountaineers.

At first they were disposed to regard him with some distrust, as
one apart; he was so unlike themselves. But when he had changed
his dress for the rough garb of the hillsman, and, meeting them
kindly upon their own ground, had entered so readily into their
life, the people by common consent dropped the distinguishing
title "Mister" for the more familiar one of the backwoods, "Dad."
Not that they lacked in respect or courtesy; it was only their
way. And the quiet shepherd accepted the title with a pleased
smile, seeming to find in the change an honor to be received not
lightly. But while showing such interest in all that made up their
world, the man never opened the door for anyone to enter his past.
They knew no more of his history than the hints he had given Mr.
Matthews the night he came out of the mists.

At the occasional religious meetings in the school house at the
Forks, Mr. Howitt was always present, an attentive listener to the
sermons of the backwoods preacher. And then, seeing his interest,
they asked him to talk to them one day when Parson Bigelow failed
to make his appointment. "He don't holler so much as a regular
parson," said Uncle Josh Hensley, "but he sure talks so we'uns can
understand." From that time they always called upon him at their
public gatherings.

So the scholar from the world beyond the ridges slipped quietly
into the life of the mountain folk, and took firm root in their
affections. And in his face, so "Preachin' Bill" said, was the
look of one who had "done fought his fight to a finish, an' war
too