olks, an' now I ain't
got any home. Someday I'm goin' t' die in the poorhouse er on the ground
under these woods. But I tell ye'--here he spoke in a voice that grew
loud with feeling--'mebbe I've been lazy, as they say, but I've got more
out o' my life than any o' these fools. And someday God'll honour me far
above them. When my wife an' I parted I wrote some lines that say well
my meaning. It was only a log house we had, but this will show what
I got out of it.' Then he spoke the lines, his voice trembling with
emotion.

'O humble home! Thou hadst a secret door
Thro' which I looked, betimes, with wondering eye
On treasures that no palace ever wore
But now--goodbye!

In hallowed scenes what feet have trod thy stage!
The babe, the maiden, leaving home to wed
The young man going forth by duty led
And faltering age.

Thou hadst a magic window broad and high
The light and glory of the morning shone
Thro' it, however dark the day had grown,
Or bleak the sky.

'I know Dave Brower's folks hev got brains an' decency, but when thet
boy is old enough t' take care uv himself, let him git out o' this
country. I tell ye he'll never make a farmer, an' if he marries an'
settles down here he'll git t' be a poet, mebbe, er some such shif'less
cuss, an' die in the poorhouse. Guess I better git back t' my bilin'
now. Good-night,' he added, rising and buttoning his old coat as he
walked away.

'Sing'lar man!' Uncle Eli exclaimed, thoughtfully, 'but anyone thet
picks him up fer a fool'll find him a counterfeit.'

Young as I was, the rugged, elemental power of the old poet had somehow
got to my heart and stirred my imagination. It all came not fully to my
understanding until later. Little by little it grew upon me, and what an
effect it had upon my thought and life ever after I should not dare to
estimate. And soon I sought out the 'poet of the hills,' as they called
him, and got to know and even to respect him in spite of his unlovely
aspect.

Uncle Eb skimmed the boiling sap, put more wood on the fire and came and
pulled off his boots and lay down beside me under the robe. And, hearing
the boil of the sap and the crackle of the burning logs in the arch, I
soon went asleep.

I remember feeling Uncle Eb's hand upon my cheek, and how I rose and
stared about me in the fading shadows of a dream as he shook me gently.

'Wake up, my boy,' said he. 'Come, we mus' put fer home.'

The fire was out. The old ma