and aspiring spirit.

"I don't know as ye hev any rightful cause fer ter charge me with bein'
disloyal," he answered slowly, as if pondering the accusation. "I
hain't never aimed ter contrary ye."

Lone Stacy paused for a moment and then the timbre of his voice
acquired the barb of an irony more massive than subtle.

"Air yore heart in torment because ye hain't ther Presi_dent_ of ther
country, like Abe Lincoln was? Is _thet_ why ye don't delight in
nothin' save dilitary dreams?"

A slow, brick-red flush suffused the brown cheeks of Bear Cat Stacy,
and his answer came with a slowness that was almost halting.

"When Abraham Lincoln was twenty years old he warn't no more Presi_dent_
then what I be. Thar hain't many Lincoln's, but any feller kin have
ther thing in him, though, thet carried Lincoln up ter whar he went.
Any feller kin do his best and want ter do some better. Thet's all I'm
aimin' after."

The father studied his son's suddenly animated eyes and inquired drily,
"Does this book-l'arnin' teach ye ter lay around plumb ind'lent with
times so slavish hard thet I've been pintedly compelled ter start ther
still workin' ergin, despite my a-bein' a Christian an' a law-lover:
despite my seekin' godliness an' abhorin' iniquity?"

There was in the sober expression of the questioner no cast of
hypocrisy or conscious anomaly, and the younger man shook his head.

"I hain't never shirked no labor, neither in ther field ner at ther
still, but----" He paused a moment and once more the rebellious light
flared in his eyes and he continued with the level steadiness of
resolution. "But I hates ter foller thet business, an' when I comes of
age I aims ter quit hit."

"Ye aims ter quit hit, does ye?" The old mountaineer forgot, in the
sudden leaping of wrath at such unfilial utterances, that he himself
had a few minutes before spoken in the same tenor. "Ye aims ter defy
me, does ye? Wa'al even afore ye comes of age hit wouldn't hardly hurt
ye none ter quit _drinkin'_ hit. Ye're too everlastin' good ter _make_
blockade licker, but ye hain't none too good ter lay drunk up thar with
hit."

This time the boy's flush was one of genuine chagrin and he bit off the
instinctive retort that perhaps a realization of this overpowering
thirst was the precise thing which haunted him: the exact urge which
made him want to break away from a serfdom that held him always chained
to his temptation.

"Ye thinks ye're too much like Abe Linc