s and brushing here and there with an unique,
home-made broom, was at the same time intently listening.

Presently the old woman spoke again, her threadlike voice penetrating
far.

"What do you 'low to do here in ouah mountains? They hain't no
settlement nighabouts here, an' them what's sick hain't no money to pay
doctahs with. I reckon they'll hev to stay sick fer all o' you-uns."

David looked into her eyes a moment quietly; then he smiled. The way to
her heart he saw was through the magic of one name.

"What did Doctor Hoyle do when he was down here?"

"Him? They hain't no one livin' like he was."

Then David laughed outright, a gay, contagious laugh, and after an
instant she laughed also.

"I agree with you," he said. "But you see, I am a countryman of his, and
he sent me here--he knows me well--and I mean to do as he did, if--I
can."

He drew in a deep breath of utter weariness, and leaned forward, his
elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, and gazed into the blazing
fire. The memories which had taken possession of his soul during the
long ride seemed to envelop him so that in a moment the present was
swept away into oblivion and his spirit was, as it were, suddenly
withdrawn from the body and projected into the past. He had been unable
to touch any of the greasy cold stuff which had been offered him during
the latter part of his journey, and the heat brought a drowsiness on him
and a faintness from lack of food.

"Cass--Cassandry! Look to him," called the mother shrilly, but the girl
had already noticed his strange abstraction, and the small Adam Hoyle
had drawn back, in awe, to his mother.

"Get some whiskey, Sally," said the girl, and David roused himself to
see her bending over him.

"I must have gone off in a doze," he said weakly. "The long ride and
then this warmth--" Seeing the anxious faces around him, he laughed
again. "It's nothing, I assure you, only the comfort and the smell of
something good to eat;" he sniffed a little. "What is it?" he asked.

Old Sally was tossing and shaking the frying salt pork in the skillet at
the fireplace, and the odor aggravated his already too keen appetite.

"Ye was more'n sleepy, I reckon," shrilled the woman from the bed.
"Hain't that pone done, Sally? No, 'tain't liquor he needs; hit's
suthin' to eat."

Then the girl hastened her slow, gliding movements, drew splint chairs
to a table of rough pine that stood against the side of the room, and,
stoo