A Son of the Hills

by Harriet T. Comstock

And Martin, with bowed head, acquiesced.

"If he dies——" he faltered.

"I'll let you know," the doctor replied.

But Morley never heard of Sandy's death and the summer merged into autumn, and the cold and shadow settled upon The Hollow. When winter drove the mountain folks indoors to closer contact, bad air and poor food, it drove the devil in with them and hard times followed. But before the grip of winter clutched the hills, Sandy decided that in spite of the odds against him he would make another attempt to reach Massachusetts.

A mere shadow of a boy was he when, in late September, Matilda Markham got him out on the piazza one morning and, having tucked him up well in blankets, remarked enlighteningly, "There!"

All the fineness in Sandy had been emphasized during the weeks of sickness. As the bad food, the bruises and tan had disappeared—and what little flesh which his poor body possessed—the native delicacy and dignity grew and grew.

The people of The Forge, taking small interest in the Mountain Whites, for whom they had a contempt, merely relegated Sandy to "Luck with the Yankee who was dickering about a factory site."

As for Sandy himself he had wandered too near the perilous edge of things to be very keen as to his present and future. Often he lay with closed eyes and thought back to Lost Hollow. The actual distance between him and the only home he had ever known was short but, to a community that spoke of Sheridan's Ride as if it had occurred but the day before, and which slunk and shrank from moving out of its shadows, The Forge was a "right smart way off" and, besides, no one but Martin knew of the circumstances surrounding Sandy; and Martin, to the best of his ability, was doing the only thing he could do for his boy. Often on the long weary tramps in the woods he yearned to get a glimpse of things, but the rough doctor's warnings and suggestions held him back.

"Mart Morley, keep your clutches off that lad. You've nearly put an end to him. Give others a try now."

So with a courage and self-denial no one knew or suspected, Martin kept to the hills and made ready for winter as best he could. He and Molly, when the mood seized her, gathered wood and piled it carelessly by the cabin door. It seemed a goodly pile while the days were still warm and fine, but Martin, with a groan, realized how small the accumulation really was with the long, black months lying before.