forcing the safe, had escaped to the mountains with their
booty.

Old Matt's interview with the bank official was brief. "It is
simply impossible, Mr. Matthews," said the man; "as it is, we
shall do well to keep our own heads above water."

Then the mountaineer had come the long way home. As he rode slowly
up the last hill, the giant form stooped with a weariness unusual,
and the rugged face looked so worn and hopelessly sad, that Aunt
Mollie, who was waiting at the gate, did not need words to tell
her of his failure. The old man got stiffly down from his horse,
and when he had removed saddle and bridle, and had turned the
animal into the lot, the two walked toward the house. But they did
not enter the building. Without a word they turned aside from the
steps and followed the little path to the graves in the rude
enclosure beneath the pines, where the sunshine fell only in
patches here and there.

That night after supper Mr. Matthews went down into the Hollow to
see the shepherd. "It's goin' to be mighty hard on Mollie and me a
leavin' the old place up yonder," said the big man, when he had
told of his unsuccessful trip. "It won't matter so much to the
boy, 'cause he's young yet, but we've worked hard, Mr. Howitt, for
that home--Mollie and me has. She's up there now a sittin' on the
porch and a livin' it all over again, like she does when there
ain't no one around, with her face turned toward them pines west
of the house. It's mighty nigh a breakin' her heart just to think
of leavin', but she'll hide it all from me when I go up there,
thinkin' not to worry me--as if I didn't know. An' it's goin to be
mighty hard to part with you, too, Mr. Howitt. I don't reckon
you'll ever know, sir, how much you done for us; for me most of
all."

The shepherd made as if to interrupt, but the big man continued;
"Don't you suppose we can see, sir, how you've made over the whole
neighborhood. There ain't a family for ten miles that don't come
to you when they're in trouble. An' there's Sammy Lane a readin',
an' talkin' just about the same as you do yourself, fit to hold up
her end with anybody what's got education, and Jim himself's
changed something wonderful. Same old Jim in lots of ways, but
something more, somehow, though I can't tell it. Then there's my
boy, Grant. I know right well what he'd been if it wasn't for you
to show him what the best kind of a man's like. He'd a sure never
knowed it from me. I don't mean as he'd a ev