's reluctance to unloose his eager clutch upon his
brother's arms, even after he had been lifted out upon the firm ground.
And Thad knew that that complicated sound in Ben's throat was a sob,
although, for the sake of the men who stood by, he strove to seem to be
coughing.

"Right smart of an idjit, now, ain't ye?" demanded Ben, hustling back,
so to speak, the tears that sought to rise in his eyes.

"Waal, stranger, how's yer filly?" retorted Thad, laughing in a gaspy
fashion.

There was a tone of forgiveness in the inquiry. The answer caught the
same spirit.

"Middlin',--thanky,--jes' middlin'," said Ben.

And then they and "dad" fared home together by the light of the
moonshiners' lantern.

BORROWING A HAMMER

On a certain bold crag that juts far over a steep wooded mountain slope
a red light was seen one moonless night in June. Sometimes it glowed
intensely among the gray mists which hovered above the deep and sombre
valley; sometimes it faded. Its life was the breath of the bellows, for
a blacksmith's shop stands close beside the road that rambles along the
brink of the mountain. Generally after sunset the forge is dark and
silent. So when three small boys, approaching the log hut through the
gloomy woods, heard the clink! clank! clink! clank! of the hammers, and
the metallic echo among the cliffs, they stopped short in astonishment.

"Thar now!" exclaimed Abner Ryder desperately; "dad's at it fur true!"

"Mebbe he'll go away arter a while, Ab," suggested Jim Gryce, another
of the small boys. "Then that'll gin us our chance."

"Waal, I reckon we kin stiffen up our hearts ter wait," said Ab
resignedly.

All three sat down on a log a short distance from the shop, and
presently they became so engrossed in their talk that they did not
notice when the blacksmith, in the pauses of his work, came to the door
for a breath of air. They failed to discreetly lower their voices, and
thus they had a listener on whose attention they had not counted.

"Ye see," observed Ab in a high, shrill pipe, "dad sets a heap o' store
by his tools. But dad, ye know, air a mighty slack-twisted man. He gits
his tools lost" (reprehensively), "he wastes his nails, an' then he
'lows ez how it war _me_ ez done it."

He paused impressively in virtuous indignation. A murmur of surprise and
sympathy rose from his companions. Then he recommenced.

"Dad air the crankiest man on this hyar mounting! He won't lend me none
o' his to