clasp.

"Son," spoke out Jephthah in that deep, sonorous voice of his, "Creed,
boy, what you set out to do was a work for a man's lifetime; but God made
you for jest what you aimed then to do and be. Yo' mighty young yet, but
you air formed for a leader of men. To the last day of its life an oak
will be an oak and a willer a willer; and yo' head won't be grey when you
find yo' work and find yo'self a-doin' it right."

"Pap Turrentine!" called Huldah from the kitchen, "Maw wants ye out
here."

The door swung wide; it showed a vision of Nancy Turrentine, flushed,
bustling, capable, the crinkled grey hair pushed back above those bright
eyes of hers with a prideful hand, entering upon the administration of
her new realm. Oh, it had not been easy for one of her spirit to be a
poor little widow, living out on the Edge, with nobody but slack Doss
Provine to do for her, hardly dishes enough to set the table, often not
much to put in them, eking out a scanty living by weaving baskets of
white-oak splits. When Judith rode up to the cabin on the Edge that
evening of late March, it was the hardest time of the year; now was the
mountaineer's season of cheer and abundance--his richest month. Outside,
nuts were gathering, hunting was good, and she had for her provider of
wild meat the mightiest hunter in the Turkey Tracks. Jephthah
Turrentine's home was ample and well plenished. There was good store of
root crops laid up for winter. Judith had neglected such matters to tend
on Creed, but Nancy was already putting in hand the cutting and drying of
pumpkins, the threshing out of beans. Here were milk vessels a-plenty to
scald and sun--and filling for them afterward. Oh, enough to do
with!--the will to do had always been Nancy's--and for yokefellow in the
home, one who would carry his share and pull true--a real man--the only
one there had ever been for Nancy.

"Pap," called Huldah's insistent voice again.

"All right--I'm a-comin'," declared Jephthah, then, with the door in his
hand, turned back, meaning to finish what had been in his mind to say to
Creed.

Jephthah Turrentine was himself that day a bridegroom, wedded to the one
love of his life; he appreciated to the full that which had come to
Creed. He had thought to say to the boy that now was the opening of great
things, to remind him that one must first live man's natural life, must
prove himself as son, brother, husband, father, and neighbour, before he
will be accepted