e
roadside.

"I reckoned you-all would come along this way," he said, "an' I've be'n
thinkin' more'n more 'bout Teacheh havin' likely gone to the city, an'
not bein' dead after all. Yo' goin' to the city now?"

[Illustration: BILL WILSH'S HOME IN THE GULLY. (_Courtesy of Doubleday,
Page & Co._)]

[Illustration: BILL WILSH IN THE SCHOOL. (_Courtesy of Doubleday, Page
& Co._)]

"I'm going to Washington, Bill," Hamilton answered.

"Is that the city?"

"It's one of them."

"Do yo' s'pose that'd be the city Teacheh went to?"

"I couldn't say, Bill," the lad replied, "there's no way of knowing, but
it's likely enough."

"I was thinkin'--" the mountain boy began then he broke off suddenly.
"I'm mighty partial to whittlin'," he continued irrelevantly.

"The best ever," interjected Hamilton's companion. "Yo' ought to have
shown him some of your work, Bill."

"I was allers hopin' Teacheh would come back," said the boy in his
listless, passionless way, "an' he seemed so fond o' the school that I
whittled a piece to give him when he showed up agin. But now I reckon he
an't a-goin' to come back. Does you-all reckon he'll come back from the
city?"

Hamilton looked down at the lad, and wanted to cheer him up, but he
could not see what would be likely to bring the schoolmaster back, and
so he answered:

"I'm afraid not, Bill. But he might, you know."

"I reckon not. But I'd like him to know he a'nt fo'gotten in the
mount'ns. I want yo' to tell him that thar a'nt be'n a week sence he
went away that I an't be'n down to the school an' swep' the floor an'
seen that his books was in the place he liked to have 'em be. I wouldn'
want him to come back from his wanderin', if he still is wanderin', an'
think he was fo'gotten. It an't much, I know, to sweep a floor," he
added, looking up to Hamilton, "but yo' tell him an' he'll understan'.
It's about all that I kin do. He'll understan' if yo' tell him."

Neither of the other boys spoke, and after a moment the mountain lad
went on:

"An' when yo' see him, give him this, an' tell him it comes from Bill,
his 'tryin' scholar.' He used to call me that because, although I wasn't
learnin' much, I was always tryin'. An' yo' can tell him I'm tryin'
still."

Reaching his hand into the bosom of his ragged shirt the boy pulled out
a slab of wood four inches square. It was carved as a bas-relief,
showing the schoolhouse in the foreground in high relief, with the
wooded hills beyond.