es. For that we have my grandfather's word; and no one, I think, will
gainsay it. Now, having gone so far, we will not be beaten by it, or
else we shall not be Americans."

These simple words were received with great applause; and an orator,
standing on the largest stump to be found even in America, delivered a
speech which was very good to hear, but need not now be repeated. And
Mr. Gundry's eyes were moist with pleasure at his grandson's conduct.

"Firm knoweth the right thing to do," he said; "and like a man he doeth
it. But whatever aileth you, Miss Rema, and what can 'e see in the
distance yonner? Never mind, my dear, then. Tell me by-and-by, when none
of these folk is 'longside of us."

But I could not bear to tell him, till he forced it from me under pain
of his displeasure. I had spied on the sky-line far above us, in the
desert track of mountain, the very gap in which my father stood and bade
me seek this landmark. His memory was true, and his eyesight also; but
the great tree had been felled. The death of the "King of the Mountains"
had led to the death of the king of mankind, so far as my little world
contained one.

CHAPTER V

UNCLE SAM

The influence of the place in which I lived began to grow on me. The
warmth of the climate and the clouds of soft and fertile dust were
broken by the refreshing rush of water and the clear soft green of
leaves. We had fruit trees of almost every kind, from the peach to the
amber cherry, and countless oaks by the side of the river--not large,
but most fantastic. Here I used to sit and wonder, in a foolish,
childish way, whether on earth there was any other child so strangely
placed as I was. Of course there were thousands far worse off, more
desolate and destitute, but was there any more thickly wrapped in
mystery and loneliness?

A wanderer as I had been for years, together with my father, change of
place had not supplied the knowledge which flows from lapse of time.
Faith, and warmth, and trust in others had not been dashed out of me by
any rude blows of the world, as happens with unlucky children
huddled together in large cities. My father had never allowed me much
acquaintance with other children; for six years he had left me with a
community of lay sisters, in a little town of Languedoc, where I was the
only pupil, and where I was to remain as I was born, a simple heretic.
Those sisters were very good to me, and taught me as much as I could
take of secular