Marcia Lowe was mistaken. Sandy did not know. He knew that Treadwell had not returned the evening before, but Tansey Moore, who was now manager of Crothers' new factory, had told him that Treadwell had gone to look up a piece of land back of Sudley's Gap, and the storm had naturally detained him.
The sudden growth of intimacy between Crothers and Lans surprised and amused Sandy. Full well he realized Crothers' motive, and he could afford to laugh at that, but he felt annoyed and hurt at Lans's weak falling into the trap. The disloyalty to himself did not affect Sandy, he was far too sensible and simple a man to care deeply for that, and it somehow made it easier for him to reconcile his conscience to the growing distrust and contempt he had for Treadwell, but he disliked the idea of Crothers using his friend to gain his mean ends.
"Lans is not one to tie up to," he said to himself, and then smiled at the quaint expression which he had learned from Levi. "And to-morrow I will tell him that I must make ready for the Markhams."
The day after Cynthia's marriage Sandy had gone early to the buildings. He and Martin had worked hard; settled a difficulty among the men, which they both felt confident Crothers had instigated, and, upon reaching home late in the afternoon Sandy was told that Old Andrew Townley was ill and wanted him. Liza Hope had sent word.
"I reckon you can wait to eat," Sally Taber had suggested; "ole Andy has been dyin' with consumption ever since dat time when he went to The Forge an' got baptized in his wife's night shift—him not being able to get a robe! Andy took a mighty stiff chill that-er-day an' it war like a finger pintin' the way to his grave. Andy war thirty when he waddled into de Branch in dem swaddling clothes, an' he's over ninety now. I expect he can hol' on till you've tended to yo' stummick."
But Sandy had not waited. He went to Andrew and found the old man wandering on to the end of his journey in a very happy frame of mind. He was, to himself, no longer the weak creature dying in his poor cabin. Lying on the comfortable cot Sandy had provided, smilingly gazing through the broad window Sandy's inspired saw and hammer had designed, he believed himself to be a young and strong man helping another up The Way with guiding hand and cheerful courage. Sitting by the bed, Sandy took the cold, shrivelled fingers in his warm young ones, and the comforting touch focussed the wavering mind.
"Eh, there, son, it's a right smart climb, but the end's just yonder! See that-er-light?"
"Yes, old friend, I see the light."
Sandy bent low and whispered gently.
"That-er-light, son, is in Parson Starr's window. Starr, Starr! He war a mighty clear star an' his light ain't going out, I reckon. Hold fast, son! A few more steps and the totin' will be over. It's been right heavy goin'—but——"