A Son of the Hills

by Harriet T. Comstock

"I beg your pardon, madam. I am sorry that my manner suggests this to you. But can you not see that I must master this situation in my own way? I cannot sell out my interest in my investment without reason. Give me a—week—no forty-eight hours!"

"Thank heaven!" Olive Treadwell exclaimed, "there is the carriage. No matter what the outcome of this is, Levi Markham, I reckon you'll live to thank me for putting you on the right track."

"I'm still on my narrow gauge, madam." Markham smiled not unkindly and put out his hand.

"Please bid your sister farewell. I shall not return to Bretherton, I imagine. I will never willingly abase myself again, not even for Lans!"

When she had gone Markham sank into the big leather chair and looked blankly before him. His eyes were fixed across the desk where he himself generally sat, and a kind of pity moved him for the part of him that no one ever knew or suspected. In Sandy Morley, he had realized nearer his yearning and ambition than he ever had before. His paternal instincts had been, to a certain degree, gratified. The boy had seemed so entirely his; had responded so splendidly to his efforts for him. They had grown so close together during the past years in their silent, undemonstrative fashion. Could it be possible that he had been deceived?

And then Markham pulled himself together and went around the desk to his revolving chair. It was as if the stern man of affairs took control and demanded of the doubting creature opposite, common sense and plain justice. "Hold your horses, Levi," he cautioned; "bide your time. Don't get scared off. Do you remember that old mine that no one else took stock in? It bought and feathered your first nest! Just you hold to that and keep your mind easy until you get onto the job yourself!"

CHAPTER XVI

Sandy came down from Boston that evening, tired-eyed and dusty. He walked up from the station because he had taken an earlier train and he wanted the walk through the quiet, sweet woods and fields before he met the two friends from whom he always kept his worries and troubles. By the time he entered the house on the hill he would be himself again!

And what had the seven years done for and with Sandy Morley? Outwardly they had wrought wonders with him. He was over six feet tall, broad and good to look upon. His clean-cut dark face was rather stern and serious, but his eyes had caught and held the light and kindness the world had shown him since he left Lost Mountain. When Sandy smiled you forgot his sternness; he could look very joyous, but recent happenings had set a seal upon his brighter side. Well dressed and well cared for he strode ahead, taking a cut be knew well through the woods and pastures leading up to the farmhouse, and for the first time in years the homesickness for Lost Hollow surged over him. Always in his deeper, more thoughtful moods the old home-place had a part. For years he rarely ate a meal, when he was hungry, without a grip of memory taking a flavour from the food. His hours of ease and pleasure were haunted by grim recollections of toil and dreariness which he had once endured, and which others, like him, were still undergoing. He never forgot, never became callous; but as time went on and success became more certain, he learned to estimate the value of utilizing his chances and economizing his strength and powers. As in the old days of preparation among the hills, he put in safe keeping his earnings, never counting them; never trusting himself to the encouragement or depression of their amount for good or ill—he awaited his hour and call. And, too, as in the old days he mistrusted and feared Molly, so now there were moments when he, superstitiously, expected some one or some thing to defeat him in his aims and ideals. For never had his vision faltered. He was still preparing to help Lost Hollow and all them who dwelt therein.