was too forbidding in his irritability,
but the boy kept to his determination to press on at once towards the
railroad. After breakfast was over he went back to see the woman of
the house, and in lazy kindness she said she wished she had a little
bread and meat to give him but "there wan't none left," which Steve
was quite prepared to hear, for there were many mouths to feed and
never any left.

"I hope ye'll git thar all right. I reckons ye'll git somethin' to eat
on the road, and ef ye're ever to come this-a-way agin come an' see
us," she drawled as she smoked.

"Ye been mighty good ter me," said Steve, "an' I ain't nuver goin' ter
forgit it."

He passed the children about the door-step, his fox skin under his
arm, and they stood and watched him leave with a sort of sorrowful
solemnity. Goodbyes are a thing unknown to mountain folk.

Then he walked off without much thought as to direction, having a
definite impression, however, as to the way he should go, which was
part instinct and partly remembrance of what the boy on the moving
wagon had told him. The people he had left were too inert to think of
giving him any instructions. But down the road he passed the big boys
of the house sitting idly by the roadside. They had heard with
satisfaction their father's opinion as to Steve's going in search of
"larnin'." As Steve came in sight one of them nudged the other and
said, "Less throw him off the scent."

"Which-a-way ye goin', Bub?" he asked when Steve came up.

Then for the first time Steve stopped and thought.

"Why, that-a-way," he replied pointing.

The big boys laughed boisterously. "Ye'll nuver git to no railroad
goin' that-a-way. Thar's the way ye want ter go," said one, pointing
off at a slightly different angle, which made the greatest difference
in the boy's ultimate destination.

Steve looked doubtfully, but when he reflected a moment he remembered
that he really did not know positively in what direction to go.

"Is that so?" he inquired looking earnestly at the boys.

"Hit shore is," returned both of them.

"How fur is it?" asked Steve.

"Oh, 'tain't fur," said one of the boys; "ye ought ter git thar before
night easy. You go straight as a crow flies that-a-way," pointing as
he had before, "and ye'll come to the railroad tracks. Ye can't miss
hit fer ye're bound to cross 'em, an' ef ye go straight, lack I tell
ye, ye'll be right at the station."

The boy on the moving wagon had described th