art Morley! What you--doing--to--him?"

Marcia Lowe's eyes were full of tears, and her trembling lips were
hardly able to frame the words:

"I'm helping him to lead his people back to their heritage! Oh! you do
not understand; but he and I--with God on our side, are fighting--just
plain fighting a--a worm!"

At that moment Morley stirred and opened his hollow, starving eyes.

"Food," he gasped in a voice Greeley never forgot; "God-a'mighty--food!"

Then Greeley beheld a miracle. He saw Marcia Lowe run to the fire in
the living-room and bring to the bedside of the sick man a tiny kettle
of some smooth liquid; he saw her dip a spoon in and then hold it to
the lips of Morley. She had forgotten Greeley; forgotten all but the
man upon the bed.

"Slowly, slowly!" she whispered; "we've won! we've won! There! there!
It's going to be all right from now on--the charm's worked!"

Awed and afraid, Greeley tiptoed from the house, and all the way back
to the waiting County Club he muttered like a half-wit:

"Fighting a worm! Fighting a worm!"

CHAPTER XIII

The day that civilization and education took Sandy Morley into its
keeping, saw Cynthia Walden astride Crothers' mule jogging down The Way
to the factory. Sandy, arrayed in immaculate attire, was borne to his
school among the New Hampshire hills by train and coach. He was
desperately lonely; thoroughly frightened, but he was well in body;
healthfully sustained by good food, and he had so much money in his
pockets that he was in deadly fear of being waylaid and robbed.
Cynthia, on the contrary, was dressed in a shabby gingham gown freshly
laundried and stiffly starched, but much mended, and her pocket was
guiltless of money. She had no fear of being attacked, so she sang
sweetly and joyously as she bobbed about getting her blood circulating,
for the old coat and hood she wore were pitifully inadequate for the
crisp weather. Cynthia was young and hope led her on; besides, she had
just deposited a most poetic letter to Sandy in the hole of the tree.
Old Sally Taber had smoothed the problem of Stoneledge for the time
being, and there was going to be plenty of money now that Crothers had
opened the way for Cynthia to employ her talents!

Cynthia tried the bird-note Sandy had conquered so successfully.

"Why don't we-all have birds in winter 'stead of summer?" babbled Madam
Bubble from her mule; "and moons on dark nights, and hot suns at
Christmas?" Then s