ooks
like a tussle for Sandy Morley now, I reckon. What you want to do
about it? If he lives, which he likely enough won't, he's going to be
a right smart bit of care."

Levi looked at Matilda and Matilda looked at Levi, and then they both
looked at Sandy. "Massachusetts!" moaned the boy, tossing about
restlessly--"I'm going to get there, I tell you! Mass--massa--chu----"
The voice trailed off miserably and Bob was alert at once.

"I never cast a beast out----" began Levi.

"Not to mention a human boy," added Matilda.

"We're going to see him through or--out, doctor."

The impassive face of the doctor gave no intimation as to his emotions.
He took out his medicine bottles and forthwith began to complicate
Sandy's chances in the hand-to-hand struggle.

An old black woman, famed for her charms and nursing, was secured by
Matilda Markham to assist in the care of Sandy Morley.

"I shall keep an eye on the witch," Matilda warned her brother, "but
she has a sense about nursing that can be relied upon."

And so the battle was on. Gossip about the boy was killed at the
bedroom door. No one became interested or cared. The doctor, after a
week or two, chancing upon Martin Morley on The Way, told him of
Sandy's good fortune.

"Morley, if there's a bit of the man in you," he advised, "let go that
boy and leave him to his opportunity. You've almost killed him, body
and soul, among you, now; whether it be life or death, let him have a
try for the clean thing. It's all you can do for him--forget him!"

And Martin, with bowed head, acquiesced.

"If he dies----" he faltered.

"I'll let you know," the doctor replied.

But Morley never heard of Sandy's death and the summer merged into
autumn, and the cold and shadow settled upon The Hollow. When winter
drove the mountain folks indoors to closer contact, bad air and poor
food, it drove the devil in with them and hard times followed. But
before the grip of winter clutched the hills, Sandy decided that in
spite of the odds against him he would make another attempt to reach
Massachusetts.

A mere shadow of a boy was he when, in late September, Matilda Markham
got him out on the piazza one morning and, having tucked him up well in
blankets, remarked enlighteningly, "There!"

All the fineness in Sandy had been emphasized during the weeks of
sickness. As the bad food, the bruises and tan had disappeared--and
what little flesh which his poor body possessed--the nati