something rose within him--a fierce new something
that sent the swift red to his neck and brow. He raised a determined
hand to the doorknob--he had something to say to that woman!--when the
door suddenly opened again from the inside.

"See here, boy," began the woman, looking out at him a little less
unkindly, "if you're hungry I'll give you some milk and bread. Go
around to the back porch and I'll get it for you." And she shut the
door again.

David's hand dropped to his side. The red still stayed on his face and
neck, however, and that fierce new something within him bade him refuse
to take food from this woman.... But there was his father--his poor
father, who was so tired; and there was his own stomach clamoring to be
fed. No, he could not refuse. And with slow steps and hanging head
David went around the corner of the house to the rear.

As the half-loaf of bread and the pail of milk were placed in his
hands, David remembered suddenly that in the village store on the
mountain, his father paid money for his food. David was glad, now, that
he had those gold-pieces in his pocket, for he could pay money.
Instantly his head came up. Once more erect with self-respect, he
shifted his burdens to one hand and thrust the other into his pocket. A
moment later he presented on his outstretched palm a shining disk of
gold.

"Will you take this, to pay, please, for the bread and milk?" he asked
proudly.

The woman began to shake her head; but, as her eyes fell on the money,
she started, and bent closer to examine it. The next instant she jerked
herself upright with an angry exclamation.

"It's gold! A ten-dollar gold-piece! So you're a thief, too, are you,
as well as a tramp? Humph! Well, I guess you don't need this then," she
finished sharply, snatching the bread and the pail of milk from the
boy's hand.

The next moment David stood alone on the doorstep, with the sound of a
quickly thrown bolt in his ears.

A thief! David knew little of thieves, but he knew what they were. Only
a month before a man had tried to steal the violins from the cabin; and
he was a thief, the milk-boy said. David flushed now again, angrily, as
he faced the closed door. But he did not tarry. He turned and ran to
his father.

"Father, come away, quick! You must come away," he choked.

So urgent was the boy's voice that almost unconsciously the sick man
got to his feet. With shaking hands he thrust the notes he had been
writing into his pock