not prepared for the abrupt change in both her speech and manner. He
almost lost his balance when she suddenly gave her consent; but,
regaining it quickly, he tumbled through the door, giving vent to his
delight in a series of whoops that made Mammy's head ring, and brought
her to the door, scolding crossly.

A few minutes later, a dusky little figure crept through the gloaming,
and rustled softly through the leaves lying on the path. Resting his
arms on the fence, he looked across the dim fields to the darkly
outlined tree-tops of the hill beyond.

"I wondah if he knows that I'm keepin' my promise," he whispered. "I
wondah if he knows I'm tryin' to follow him."

Over the churchyard hill the new moon swung its slender crescent of
light, and into its silvery wake there trembled out of the darkness a
shining star.

* * * * *

The roadside ditches are covered with ice, these cold winter mornings.
The ruts in the muddy pike are frozen as hard as stone. John Jay
shuffles along in his big shoes on his way to school, out at the toes
and out at his elbows; but there is a broad smile all over his bright
little face. Wherever he can find a strip of ice to slide across, he
goes with a rush and a whoop. Sometimes there is only a raw turnip and a
piece of corn pone in his pocket for dinner. His feet and fingers are
always numb with cold by the time he reaches the school house, but his
eyes still shine, and his whistle never loses its note of cheeriness.

There are whippings and scoldings in the schoolhouse, just as there have
always been whippings and scoldings in the cabin; for no sooner is he
thawed out after his long walk, than he begins to be the worry of his
teacher's life, as he was the torment of Mammy's. It is not that he
means to make trouble. Despite his many blunders into mischief, he is
always at the head of his class, for he has a motive for hard study that
the other pupils know nothing of.

Every evening Bud and Ivy watch for his home-coming with eager faces
flattened against the cabin window, lit up by the red glare of the
sunset. They see him come running up the road, snapping his cold
fingers, and turning occasional handsprings into the snow-drifts in the
fence corners.

Just before he comes whistling up the path with his face twisted into
all sorts of ugly grimaces to make them laugh, he stops at the gate a
moment. Do they wonder what he always sees across those snowy fields