ed fists, he moaned over and over:

"Curse her! curse her! I hate her!"

He had never hated before; never cursed, but at that moment he cursed
that which he hated.

It was early spring then, and under the tall, dark trees the dogwood
bushes were in full bloom. Sandy was touched, always, by beauty, and
in his excited state he thought in that desperate hour that the dogwood
blossoms were like stars under a stormy cloud. Heaven seemed reaching
down to him, and closing him in--his thoughts were tinged by Martin's
religious outbursts and the native superstition of the hills. It was
then and there that the child first knew he must go away! The call was
distinct and compelling--he must go away! And from that hour he made
preparation. At first the effort was small and pitiful. He began to
gather whatever Nature provided freely, and turn it into money. With
shrewd perception he realized he must overcome his deadly shyness and
carry his wares farther than The Hollow if he wished to achieve that
upon which he was bent. The Hollow people were poor; The Forge people
would give food and clothing for berries and sassafras roots; but Sandy
demanded money or that which could be exchanged for money, and so he
travelled far with his basket of fragrant berries or shining nuts and
in time he found himself at the Waldens' back door facing a tall black
woman, in turban and kerchief, with the child Cynthia beside her.

"Do you-all want to buy eight quarts of wild strawberries?" he asked in
that low fine voice of his.

"Buy?" demanded Lily Ivy scornfully. "Miss Cyn, honey, go fotch Miss
Ann and tell her one ob dem Morleys is here axing us-all to buy his
berries, and him in shreds and tatters!"

Presently Cynthia returned with her aunt. Miss Walden was then sixty,
but she looked seventy-five at least; she was a stern, detached woman
who dealt with things individually and as she could--she never sought
to comprehend that which was not writ large and clear. She was not a
dull nor an ignorant woman, but she had been carried on the sluggish
current of life with small effort or resistance. She did her task and
made no demands.

"So you're Morley's boy?" she asked curiously; she had still the
interest of the great lady for her dependents. The Morleys had become
long since "poor whites," but Ann Walden knew their traditions. The
family had slunk into hiding ever since Martin had taken the Woman Mary
into his cabin, and Miss Wald