"It must be a mighty brave company!" The slow smile touched the sweet lips.

"Mr. Morley, I wonder if you will ever hear from Sandy?"

"Sho'! Miss Cynthia, you-all make me right creepy. I woke up this-er morning from a dream 'bout Sandy. It was a right techersome dream, but dreams be techersome. I dreamed that Sandy was daid, and yet I woke up right cheerful. I've reasoned it out this-er-way. Sandy _is_ daid to me, lil' Miss Cynthia, but alive out in a bigger, wider life and sho' a right minded father should be mighty glad of that. I'm willing to give Sandy to a better life."

The old face twitched. "It's 'bout all I can do for my son."

"Oh! Mr. Morley, you're right noble but I don't believe Sandy's like that. He's just waiting 'till he has a mighty fine something to bring back to us-all, and then we'll see him coming up The Way as brave and smiling as can be."

Martin shook his head slowly.

"I don' doubt it, lil' Miss Cynthia. It's seven long years now! I've taken a right smart heap of comfort mending up the cabin and painting it and planting vines and flowers about. It has been the happiness I've allowed myself--getting ready for Sandy that ain't never coming!

Good morning, just wish me luck 'bout the job. The getting ready means something even if you don't ever get what you're making ready for."

And with this Martin Morley went down The Way toward The Forge to seek his luck with the stranger who had arrived a few days before to begin operations on a certain piece of land which had been bought by a man--no one could recall his name--seven years ago!

Cynthia stood under the trees by the road after Martin left and fell into a reverie. It was early. By walking a little faster she could reach Trouble Neck in time for the possible pupils, and the lure of the morning held her. Looking up to catch more distinctly the note of a bird, she noticed how white and splendid the dogwood flowers were on the tree under which she stood.

"They certainly do look like stars!" she whispered. The day seemed pulsing with thoughts of Sandy Morley! Not for years had he been so in her mind. To be sure the hole in the tree near Stoneledge was quite filled with letters written to an imaginary somebody called, for convenience, Sandy--the "Biggest of Them All." But Cynthia's ideal bore little likeness to the actual Sandy, and her letters had become but the outpourings of a heart that must create its own Paradise or perish. Sandy Morley had faded into an indistinct blur, but the romance he had awakened bore the girl far and away from the common life of The Hollow.

"I thought," the uplifted face glowed rosily; "I thought I heard--a new note! Some strange bird!" Then, with a toss of the head which threw the broad brimmed hat back on the shoulders, "I must be getting right daffy! That's the bird Sandy Morley used to copy mighty cleverly. I could do it myself once--I wonder!" The pretty lips curved deliciously, and an effort was made to reproduce the sound. Sweetly, faintly it trilled and ended in a light laugh.

From the underbrush lower down beside The Way, a young man looked at the upraised face under the dogwood tree; listened to the answer to his call and felt his heart throb with such force that his lips drew close with the pain of joy. For a few moments he gazed and struggled for self-control but great waves of happiness and delight overpowered him.

He dared not move, but he sent a swift prayer to heaven--a prayer for guidance in a new life amid the old home-scenes for which his faithful heart had yearned while he had wandered far.

Cynthia's quick ears caught the rustle of the bushes across The Way and instantly her face changed and her hand gripped something in a little bag at her side. The stranger thought it wisest to step out. This he did with a laugh of understanding.

"Oh!" exclaimed Cynthia Walden, "I certainly do beg your pardon.

I--thought--I thought you were Smith Crothers."

The sudden fear wrung this candid confession from the girl. "I reckon you don't know Smith Crothers."

"I--I've heard of him recently."

"I expect," Cynthia was full of interest now. "I expect you are the man from the North."

"You are quite right."

"Now I'm right sorry you didn't get here fifteen minutes ago."

The stranger's face flushed under its tan and the broad felt hat, in the right hand, shook perceptibly.

"Mr. Martin Morley has gone down The Way to see you. He reckons you will give him a job."

At this the man leaned heavily against a pine tree and stared at the girl. Had he heard aright? For months he had believed Martin Morley was dead--long dead!

"Yes, Mr. Morley was just here talking about the new factory up in the mountain."

To hear Cynthia say mountain was to love the high places better all the days of your life. So lingeringly and tenderly did the soft voice deal with the vowels and consonants that they suggested all the beauty and strength of the hills. The man opposite closed his eyes from sheer delight while the word sank into his consciousness and filled the empty places of his heart.

"He'll miss you, I reckon, but could you save a job for him?"

"I can and--will." The man opened his eyes and courageously walked across The Way and stood still, hat in hand, before the girl. He was tall and broad and good to look upon and youth went out to youth cordially and frankly.

"I reckon"--the homely word took the place of the Yankee "guess"

naturally, "I reckon you are--Miss Cynthia Walden?"

"Yes." Cynthia's eyes shone. "Who--told you?"

"I heard about you." This was very lame, but it answered.

"And you--sir?"

"Oh, I am--the man from the North."

"You sound like you had Southern blood."

"My father and mother were Southerners."

"From round this-er-way?"

Again the man closed his eyes; the sweet voice and dear familiar expressions were almost more than he could bear.

"Not very far away."

A very little seemed enough to pacify the girl's curiosity.

"I reckon the North's mighty big," she ventured presently.

"It's--it's--tremendous."

"Do you know anything about--Massachusetts?"

"I came from there."

"Oh! And is that--so mighty big?"

"Not so big as the whole North. Though some still think it is."

"Did you ever hear----" Cynthia paused and clasped her hands together; "of a--a boy named Sandy Morley? He went from here to there--long ago?"

It was a wild question, but the day was so haunted by Sandy that the words came of their own volition.

"I've met him; yes, I know him slightly."

The colour rose and faded in Cynthia's face and her breath came quick and hard.

"Oh! tell me about him. He came from this--Hollow! He went away years and years ago. Tell me--what has he become?"