e. With uncovered head he led me into a
beautiful home with white pillars. And then he bowed low and whispered
in my ear: 'This is yours, my angel mother. I bought it for you with my
life. All that I am I owe to you'----"

Her voice sank to a whisper that was half a sob and half a laugh.

"See how she's smiling, Pa," the Boy cried. "She's getting well!"

"Don't ye understand!" the father whispered. "Look--at her eyes--she's
not tellin' you a dream--she's looking through the white gates of
heaven--it's Death, Boy--it's come--Lord God, have mercy!"

With a groan he dropped by her side and her thin hand rested gently on
his shaggy head.

The Boy stared at her in agonizing wonder as she felt for his hand and
feebly held it. She was gazing now into the depths of his soul with her
pensive hungry eyes.

"He good to your father, my son----" she paused for breath and looked at
him tenderly. She knew the father was the child of the future--this Boy,
the man.

"Yes!" he whispered.

"And love your sister----"

"Yes."

"Be a man among men, for your mother's sake----"

"Yes, Ma, I will!"

The little head bent low and the voice was silent.

They went to work to make her coffin at noon. An unused walnut log of
burled fibre had been lying in the sun and drying for two years, since
Tom had built the furniture for the cabin. Dennis helped him rip the
boards from this dark, rich wood, shape and plane it for the pieces he
would need.

The Boy sat with dry eyes and aching heart, making the wooden nails to
fasten these boards together.

He stopped suddenly, walked to the bench at which his father was working
and laid by his side the first pins he had whittled.

"I can't do it, Pa," he gasped. "I just can't make the nails for her
coffin. I feel like somebody's drivin' 'em through my heart!"

The rugged face was lighted with tenderness as he slowly answered:

"Why, we must make it, Boy--hit's the last thing we kin do ter show our
love fur her--ter make it all smooth an' purty outen this fine dark
wood. Yer wouldn't put her in the ground an' throw the cold dirt right
on her face, would you?"

The slim figure shivered:

"No--no--I wouldn't do that! Yes, I'll help--we must make it beautiful,
mustn't we?"

And then he went back to the pitiful task.

They dug her grave, these loving hands, father and son and orphan waif,
on a gentle hill in the deep woods. As the sun sank in a sea of scarlet
clouds next day, they lowere