r the
influence of the school it is beginning to strive for general
improvement. The boy, whose father is a worthless fellow, works at
rock-breaking till he earns enough to go to school a while; then, when
the money is gone, he returns to work again with a pathetic patience
which has stirred me deeply.

"So, mother mine, when I long for a sight of your face,--and an
old-time hand-clasp from Mr. Polk, as I assure you I too often do, or
when I crave the feast of books and the quiet student atmosphere of a
city library, I am simply going to think on these things in the
future."

The second summer in the mountains came on and was a repetition of the
first. The school was getting more pupils than could be accommodated,
it was true, but Steve felt that contact with the thought of education
would help to further the general cause. Then, journeying about
through the wilderness was also a means of gathering fresh material
for his nature and hunting stories for boys.

There was a distinct drawing towards the Follets in his subconscious
mind, the real objective of which he would scarcely admit to himself.
He put from him suggestive pictures of curls and pinafores which
memory and flitting dreams still flashed before him at times. He meant
to go there some day for he wanted to express his gratitude for all
the kindness of the past, but the time had not yet come. He must not
for the present be diverted in the least from the purpose which was
occupying him. He must repay Mr. Polk,--that was the thought which
dominated him, and to that end he was frugally gathering all the money
he could. As he had carried the fox skin through the wilderness when a
boy, so now he carried the thought of that debt in his mind, and no
robber in the form of pleasant indulgence should prevent him from
meeting his obligation.

The second session passed, and he had learned how to handle his
difficulties with better success, while his method of teaching was
more definitely marked out and he found more leisure for the use of
his pen. Fresh, bright stories with the breath of the mountains in
them began to find ready sale, and occasionally as his pen dipped a
bit into romance it brought more than ordinary returns. Upon the tide
of this success came a strong temptation: Why not go to a distinctly
literary atmosphere and make a business of literature? He felt an
inward assurance of making good and a longing for the work which was
almost overpowering. Money f