"Poor white trash!"
And there Tod Greeley and Liza Hope found them hours after. Cynthia, beside the prostrate woman, was crooning as to a baby, and over and over the desperate old voice wailed:
"We-all are poor white trash!"
CHAPTER VII
When Sandy had departed down The Way he felt weak and stricken. All the fervour and exhilaration were gone; there was no turning back, and he could not stand still. The walk to The Forge could easily be made before morning, with time to sleep on the way, so there was nothing to do but forget his misery and travel on. The storm, too, emphasized the necessity for this. On beyond there was a deserted cabin by the trail; he could sleep there in comparative comfort; under the falling roof there surely must be one dry spot large enough to shelter a thin, tired boy.
A crash of thunder caused Sandy to rush forward. He had the childish fear that many country children have of the extremes of Nature, and superstition swayed his every thought. Gathering his loose coat about him and clutching his money close, he made for The Way, and ran with all the strength remaining in him, for the deserted cabin.
Flash and splintering noise surrounded him. His eyes were blinded by the blue-red lightning; his ears were aching from the thunder's shock. Once he stood still, unable to suffer longer—for his nerves were paralyzed with fear, and at that pause a fork of vivid flame darted from the blackness and ran like the finger of a maniac down the side of a tall tree. The stroke was so near that the boy did not heed the crash that followed immediately; he saw the wood and earth fly and he shuddered as he looked. That was the bolt that ended the life of Jim the negro, but Sandy never knew.
In unconsciousness the boy waited for, he knew not what! He was dead, yet alive, unable to move or feel, yet standing and seeing. Then his blood began to flow once more, and sinking to his knees he wept as he had not since the night when Mary drove him from the cabin to the shed to sleep! Wet and trembling, he finally found strength and courage to go on, but a loneliness of soul and mind almost overcame him. He raised his aching eyes and saw the clouds parting; he heard the rising wind complaining in the tall trees and shaking the water down upon him. At that moment a star broke through the scudding masses of rolling blackness—one kindly eye of light, and at the same instant something touched his body with thrilling familiarity. He groped and felt in the lower darkness, then—because he had never been taught to pray—Sandy Morley bent his head over the wet and shaggy body of Bob, the collie, and laughed and sobbed from sheer gratitude and joy!
Stealthily the faithful creature had followed his friend. Life had taught him, even in his puppy days, to curb his inclinations. Where Sandy was, there was always happiness, but it was generally seasoned with danger, and Bob took no chances.