to his breast. In the old home that
little boy represented himself, as he used to be. When he could speak
he said in a voice which trembled upon the silence:

"This is my little nephew, is it not?"

And Mirandy cried out sharply to her husband, without answering the
question:

"Ye shan't nuver do that no more," and the men slunk out one by one,
ashamed, rebuked, sobered, though they could not have told why.

Steve turned as they left and sat down, still holding the child to his
breast. Then gently releasing his hold with one hand he tenderly
pushed back the damp hair from the little swollen face, while Mirandy
stood by, the tears dropping down her cheeks,--a thing most unusual
for a mountain woman. And she said again passionately, "Champ shan't
nuver make him drunk agin."

"What is his name?" asked Steve at last.

"Hit's Champ fer his pappy. The bigges' one--he's outdoors
some'eres,--he's named Steve," she said in mollifying tone. "He was
borned the nex' winter atter you was here, an' you'd been sech a
likely lookin' boy I thought I'd name him fer ye."

"That was good ev you, Randy," said Steve dropping tenderly into the
old form of speech. "I'll be glad ter see my namesake. Air the two all
ye hev?"

"No, thar's the baby on the bed; she's a little gal," Mirandy replied
dully. "Then there's two on 'em that died, when they was babies. We
women allus gits chillun enough," she said, in a whining voice
peculiar to the older women of the mountains which she had already
acquired.

Steve remained a month and it was the most trying time of his life.
When he learned of the "still," which he did very promptly, despair
for Mirandy, her husband and the children filled his heart. Champ
Brady was always under the influence of his "moonshine," and Steve
knew it was perfectly useless to try to dissuade him from making or
using it. Mirandy had his own distaste for it, but she had been
accustomed to the thought of its free use all her life, and how could
he make her listless mind comprehend its danger for her children? Not
trusting her emotion and passionate protest the day he came, he talked
with her earnestly many times and made her promise to do all she could
to keep the children from it.

He took the two little boys, Steve and Champ, with their dog, every
day up to the old haunt by Tige's rock, where he camped every night.
He had brought picture books with him, illustrated alphabets and
one-syllable stories with the thou