begun--how
terribly empty and lonely it looked now! How afraid the boy must have
been when at first he was driven from the home place to the deserted
outhouse! He had never whimpered nor complained. "Poor little lad!"
breathed Martin, and leaned against the doorway of the wretched room.
There was the ragged mattress and the little nest where the slight
boyish body had so often rested after the day's cheerless toil. On the
wall were pinned two or three bright pictures that had drifted somehow
to the barren place; there was a pitiful little frayed jacket hanging
on a nail and a pair of sadly torn shoes in one corner.

The objects caused Martin to groan as he beheld them. He suffered as
he had not suffered since Sandy's mother died in his arms! Like a
drowning man he relived the years--the hard years when he cared for and
loved the baby-child alone in the cabin. He recalled the boy's sunny
ways and sweet confidence, until the Woman Mary entered their life. He
had been miserable, his lower nature craved its own, and Mary came! He
had accepted and he had lost his self-respect; everything! There was
nothing left; there would be nothing more until--the end came, unless
Sandy succeeded. Just then the moon came over a bank of black clouds
and lit The Hollow. It shone full on Lost Mountain and into the
deserted shed where but lately Sandy had suffered and slept.

Martin Morley dropped on his knees and turned his haggard, pain-racked
face upward. He had once been a religious man; had once been a leader
in the little church at The Forge before he gave up hope and ambition.
His prayers had been the pride and boast of the mountainside, but that
was long ago, and his lips with difficulty formed, now, the sacred
words.

"God-a'mighty!" he breathed, "take care of that lil' boy out there
alone on The Way. Don't fail him on the big road; keep him to the end!
I ain't asking You to do anything more for me; I've give up; but he's
just started forth! Watch him; keep him; don't let the sins of his
fathers or his enemies tech him. Amen!"

There was a note of command in the prayer. A demand for justice and
protection for one who could not defend himself. Having worded his
appeal, Martin rose stiffly from his knees and closed the door of the
shed after him.

He had done what he could; he must bear the agony and remorse silently
from now on. The old laziness and indifference returned slowly as he
retraced his steps, and w