A Son of the Hills

by Harriet T. Comstock

"Dear boy, I think I can promise to do what you ask."

Then the thin hands found their way to the bent head, and as they touched the thick, dark hair a thrill shot to the woman's very heart.

"Mother!" Sandy seemed inspired to meet her soul's longing. "Mother!"

"Son, go on. I am waiting."

"It—it is about the girl—Lansing Treadwell married."

"Yes."

"I must know how things are with her. Our mountain people can be so lonely and homesick away from the hills. At times nothing, nothing can take the place of the yearning. I—I can forget everything that has even been, if I know she is right happy and content—but I must know!"

A fierceness struck through the low-spoken words. "The doubt is—is killing me."

"Shall I go now, son, or wait until after the holidays?"

"Could you go now—and alone?"