A Son of the Hills

by Harriet T. Comstock

Sandy gave a rich, satisfied laugh of content.

"Well, sir, it is this-er-way"—The Hollow's soft running of the words together delighted Levi's ear—"when the poor little creatures have had their fight out on the upper floor and have got down to these small rooms and have realized that they are human beings, then we're going to fix them—fix them, sir, right here!" Sandy's eyes flashed and his jaw set in the stern, grim fashion that Levi had long since grown to watch for and admire.

"By the time they reach the ground floor, sir, I reckon we can tackle them and begin to make them pay for themselves. By that time they will have something to draw on and we'll exact payment. Right here and here"—Sandy's forefinger was going rapidly from point to point, and Levi's stubby digit was laboriously following—"are the workshops, the school rooms, the kitchens and conservatories. Why, sir, even the idiot children can be utilized. They love flowers and animals; we must find their one gleam and guide their poor feet on the way. Good food, honest hours of work, systematic exercise and proper amusement—why, sir, from this ground floor we are to send men and women out into the world who will reflect credit on Lost Hollow and redeem its name. And you, sir——"

The two men faced each other suddenly. Markham seemed to realize anew the delicacy and fineness of the thin, brown face—-Matilda's words rang in his ears, "he looks real pinched and peaked." The homely phrase carried more weight to Markham than any scientific terms of a specialist. A sharp pain shot through his heart; he had the quick impulse to shield and protect this young fellow who was being carried afield on the wings of his enthusiasm. Protect him from what?

"See here, son, we cannot afford to go too fast with this hobby of yours. Get the buildings up as soon as you can; carry out all the material plans just as you have designed, but we've got to get our feet on good firm ground before we tackle the human problems. You know I am against paternalism, first and last. I'm willing to give opportunity, but nothing else."

"That is all they need, sir. Some must be shown opportunity—others are strong enough to grip it, but it's mighty good common sense, sir, to open the eyes of the blind and strengthen the feet of the weak—it's what you-all did for me, sir."

"Umph!" Markham exclaimed and then got suddenly up. "I'm going to take a stroll down The Way," he said. "Fix things here in an hour or two and see if you can get some kind of a rig for a drive this afternoon. I want Matilda to get the lay of the land before the winter sets in."

And then, confused by mingled emotions, Markham bore down upon Smith Crothers in his factory, a mile or so down the mountain, and attacked that gentleman in such a blunt and utterly unlooked-for manner that Crothers was startled and helpless.

The directness of the blows left Smith Crothers without defence; he was obliged to use his own crude weapons with the ever-growing conviction that they were worse than useless. Markham availed himself of no propitiation—he rushed his opponent into the open at the first onslaught, and thereafter he attacked him fore and aft mercilessly.

"See here, Crothers," he began, when the head of the factory had invited him into his private office and, with smiles and bows, had seated his guest; "you and I had better understand each other right now. You know, and I know that you know, that I am The Company up North which you are maligning here in The Hollow. Now I'm willing to lay down my hand and show my cards. I'm going to back this boy of Morley's by millions, if necessary, and there are millions to count on—not millions to be made. Why I am doing this is my concern—all that matters is—I'm going to do it! Maybe it is a whim; maybe it is plain tomfoolery; every man has his weak side—I have mine. That factory up the hill is going to run as soon as it is finished; the Home-school is going to open its doors likewise; and both institutions are going to pay and don't you forget it! You put one product on the market; I another. We won't clash there—the rock we may split on is the labour question."