thia, "come away--dear--it's all right! Come,
come!"

Alternately laughing and sobbing, Ann Walden followed the guiding of
the hand upon her arm; she permitted herself to be placed on the ragged
sofa on the opposite side of the room.

"Poor white trash!"

And there Tod Greeley and Liza Hope found them hours after. Cynthia,
beside the prostrate woman, was crooning as to a baby, and over and
over the desperate old voice wailed:

"We-all are poor white trash!"

CHAPTER VII

When Sandy had departed down The Way he felt weak and stricken. All
the fervour and exhilaration were gone; there was no turning back, and
he could not stand still. The walk to The Forge could easily be made
before morning, with time to sleep on the way, so there was nothing to
do but forget his misery and travel on. The storm, too, emphasized the
necessity for this. On beyond there was a deserted cabin by the trail;
he could sleep there in comparative comfort; under the falling roof
there surely must be one dry spot large enough to shelter a thin, tired
boy.

A crash of thunder caused Sandy to rush forward. He had the childish
fear that many country children have of the extremes of Nature, and
superstition swayed his every thought. Gathering his loose coat about
him and clutching his money close, he made for The Way, and ran with
all the strength remaining in him, for the deserted cabin.

Flash and splintering noise surrounded him. His eyes were blinded by
the blue-red lightning; his ears were aching from the thunder's shock.
Once he stood still, unable to suffer longer--for his nerves were
paralyzed with fear, and at that pause a fork of vivid flame darted
from the blackness and ran like the finger of a maniac down the side of
a tall tree. The stroke was so near that the boy did not heed the
crash that followed immediately; he saw the wood and earth fly and he
shuddered as he looked. That was the bolt that ended the life of Jim
the negro, but Sandy never knew.

In unconsciousness the boy waited for, he knew not what! He was dead,
yet alive, unable to move or feel, yet standing and seeing. Then his
blood began to flow once more, and sinking to his knees he wept as he
had not since the night when Mary drove him from the cabin to the shed
to sleep! Wet and trembling, he finally found strength and courage to
go on, but a loneliness of soul and mind almost overcame him. He
raised his aching eyes and saw the clouds parting;