Once he stood still, unable to suffer longer--for his nerves were paralyzed with fear, and at that pause a fork of vivid flame darted from the blackness and ran like the finger of a maniac down the side of a tall tree. The stroke was so near that the boy did not heed the crash that followed immediately; he saw the wood and earth fly and he shuddered as he looked. That was the bolt that ended the life of Jim the negro, but Sandy never knew.

In unconsciousness the boy waited for, he knew not what! He was dead, yet alive, unable to move or feel, yet standing and seeing. Then his blood began to flow once more, and sinking to his knees he wept as he had not since the night when Mary drove him from the cabin to the shed to sleep! Wet and trembling, he finally found strength and courage to go on, but a loneliness of soul and mind almost overcame him. He raised his aching eyes and saw the clouds parting; he heard the rising wind complaining in the tall trees and shaking the water down upon him.

At that moment a star broke through the scudding masses of rolling blackness--one kindly eye of light, and at the same instant something touched his body with thrilling familiarity. He groped and felt in the lower darkness, then--because he had never been taught to pray--Sandy Morley bent his head over the wet and shaggy body of Bob, the collie, and laughed and sobbed from sheer gratitude and joy!

Stealthily the faithful creature had followed his friend. Life had taught him, even in his puppy days, to curb his inclinations. Where Sandy was, there was always happiness, but it was generally seasoned with danger, and Bob took no chances.

"Good dog! dear old fellow!"

Bob licked the caressing hands fondly. Never before had such appreciation been shown him even by the one who was lavishly bestowing it now; Bob did not seek to understand, he merely accepted and snuggled closer.

Sandy knew a later parting with the dog was inevitable, but human nature could not contemplate it then, so he bade Bob follow on and, with regained courage and determination, the two plodded down The Appointed Way with firmer tread. The shed was reached, and nestling close in a protected corner, they slept for several hours with no dream to disturb or frighten them. The storm passed; the stars shone out, and a new moon crept up from the east. At four o'clock Sandy started up and began the readjustment of life. Bob was lying across his legs and breathing evenly. The warmth had been grateful even if the weight had been a burden, and a sense of joy flooded the boy as he patted the dear, faithful head.

A few minutes later the two were again on the road. Breakfast would have been acceptable, but both boy and dog had learned that food was not a vital necessity for the day's beginning. A cup of warming fluid would have set Sandy up wonderfully, for his throat was sore and his bones ached, but The Forge was not a great distance away and it was a new sensation to have a pocket full of money.

"Bob, when we get there you and I will fill up--I swear it, Bob!"

The collie resented the oath. He was willing to share and share alike, and between friends surely there was no need for such emphasis.

A soaked wood road on an early August morning is not a cheering place, and the travellers plodded on with weakening limbs and heavy hearts.

Sandy comforted himself by the thought that food would set him up, but as he thought this his stomach rejected the idea with sickening insistence. The more he thought of food the more his head ached and his throat throbbed. Bob, unhampered by physical claims, jogged along cheerfully. He was used to hope deferred, and he was appreciative of the company he was in, and the absence of rough words and well-aimed kicks and blows.

The few miles of The Way seemed doubled on the moist August morning; the rising sun merely drew more dampness from the sodden earth; it did not dry it; but at last Sandy saw the opening ahead which marked the clearing around Smith Crothers' factory, he heard the buzzing and warning of machinery--at first he thought it was the strange sensation that was gaining force in his head, but presently he righted things and plucked up courage. Two miles beyond the factory: two miles of lighter woodland and then the sharp little hill at whose foot The Forge lay!

A busy day lay before Sandy. He must eat--the thought now was positive agony--buy some necessary clothing and get into touch with some inspired fellow creature who could give him information about Massachusetts. Over and over Sandy repeated the magic word. For nearly a year it had lain dormant in his consciousness. It was his earthly heaven; the paradise of his longings and desires, but now it had suddenly taken on earthly meaning and proportions. How was he to get there? Had he money enough to carry him to that wonderland where one could exchange work for an education?

So absorbed was the half-sick boy with the problem of his near future that he passed Crothers' factory unheedingly, and was well down the last sharp little hill before he realized it. A fever was gaining control over him and making him light-headed and care-free.

Massachusetts lost its agonizing doubts--everything appeared to be coming to him; even the inevitable parting with Bob became vague and blurred. Why not take Bob along with him? Why not, indeed?

And so boy and dog, muddy and fagged, came to the end of the hill, to the edge of the town and the first house, known as Stagg's Place, where room and board could be obtained for a consideration!

Sandy, with that growing nausea, made his way toward it, and Bob, with his sixth sense serving him well, pricked up his ears, put on more style of carriage and estimated his chances at the back door. But at that critical moment an excited old gentleman dashed out of Stagg's Place and gripping a walking stick madly waved it on high. Spying Sandy he sensed probable help.

"Boy!" he shouted lustily, "stop that man! It's--it's life or death.

Stop him! Send him back and I'll give you a dollar."

Sandy rallied his last remnants of strength and turned about. Off in the distance he saw the mounted postman jogging on his way toward the village and he dashed ahead! Bob, with his smouldering puppy nature coming unexpectedly to his help, scampered on, crazily barking and yelping as he had never permitted himself to do in the guarded past.

The postman, at last, heard the commotion and stopped short.

"You are to go back!" Sandy panted; "it's life or--death."

The horse was turned about and in the mud raised by the retreating hoofs the boy and dog followed wearily.

Whatever the matter was that had caused the confusion, it was adjusted by the time Sandy again reached the house. The old gentleman, muttering about a weak leg and a degenerate rascal, was sitting on the piazza fanning himself with a panama hat, while a thin, eager-eyed woman urged him to calm himself before worse harm was done.

"The Lord will provide, Levi," she was saying, as Sandy and his dog approached. "His ways are not our ways, but we might as well give credit where credit is due. His leadings are generally clearer sighted than ours be, having--as you might say--wider scope to scan." Then she glanced at the dirty, worn pair on the steps.

"Shoo!" she ejaculated, but neither dog nor boy stirred.

"What do you want?" she next asked.

"What--he said he would--give!" and then to complicate matters Sandy rolled over in a huddled heap and fainted dead away! Bob, bereft and frightened, hovered over him, emitting yelps and howls that shattered the summer calm.

The Markhams only took their meals at Stagg's Place; a small cottage near by was their lodging rooms, and to that Levi Markham ordered two coloured boys to carry the prostrate Sandy.

An hour later Matilda Markham sat beside the couch in the shaded living-room and looked thoughtfully upon the form stretched thereon.

From outside the voice of her brother came appealing to all that was reasonable and sensible in Bob.

"Of course you can see your master, my good fellow. Just be patient, patient!"

Levi Markham liked all animals, and something about Bob's rugged ugliness and faithfulness called forth his admiration and sympathy.

"Come, come, old fellow, eat and drink. He's safe enough inside. You know well, you rascal, that he _is_ inside!"

Bob blinked confidingly, but he would not touch the food which stood alluringly near at hand in a shining tin plate.

Sandy had recovered from his faint, but he was strangely weak and an inner stillness bound him speechless and immovable. He lay there--thinking, thinking! He knew a woman was beside him watching his every breath; he heard Bob outside and the sternly kind voice talking to him. But nothing mattered. Yes, one thing did matter. The money was in his pocket and Massachusetts was still in the near future!

Miss Matilda, by the process known only to her sex, had labelled and classified the boy on the sofa.

"He's what these shiftless negroes call quality," she pondered.

"Filthy and worn to the bone as he is--he is quality or I miss my guess! Now what on earth has brought him to this pass?"

The lids were drawn close over Sandy's eyes; his thin face was pinched and wan, and the tan had faded mysteriously from the smooth skin. A dignity rested on brow and mouth, and the work-stained, folded hands were delicate and full of character. Sandford Morley had come to the parting of the ways and he had resigned himself to the inevitable. His helplessness put forth an appeal that reached through his sordid misery to the emotions of Matilda Markham. She adored boys--they were her one enthusiasm but, like her brother, the more she felt the less she permitted herself to show. "She knew her duty"--none better; "but she did not intend to have her feelings joggled in the broad light of day for curious folks to witness!"

So she watched Sandy now with her heart painfully in evidence.

"There's a bruise on his left cheek," mused Miss Matilda; "like as not he hit it against something." It was the effect of the last blow Mary Morley was ever to deal him, but of course the watcher in the orderly cottage could not imagine so outrageous a thing as that.

"He's got real nice hair if it wasn't so matted. I daresay it would curl if it had half a chance." Justice called for pity and protection, and while waiting to see what was best to do next, Matilda heeded inspiration.

"You awake?" she whispered. Sandy gave a weak nod. "Want something to eat? No? A drink of water, maybe? No? Very well, lie still and drop off to sleep again. You'll feel better presently, and can tell us about yourself, then brother will send you home."

The room was dim, but Matilda's eyes were keen, and she saw two large tears roll from under the closed lids and down upon the thin cheeks.

Because of her understanding of boys, Matilda did not interfere with those mute tokens of weak surrender. Better the traces on the dirty skin than a later misunderstanding, but as the tears took their way a childless woman's pity and tenderness was following them mutely.

"You can't sleep? Well now, never mind. Just don't fuss." Then inspiration came again.

"Maybe you'd like to see your dog, he's just outside. He won't eat or drink and his nose is everlastingly pointed to the door."

At this Sandy's eyes opened so suddenly and so wide that Matilda Markham started. She had never seen such large eyes in any human boy's face and they were such strange, yearning eyes.

"You _do_ want your dog?"

"Yes, ma'am! oh, yes!"

Without a word more, Matilda strode to the door.

"Brother," she said; "we want that dog here!"