college.
Mary, the older girl, was studying library work; the younger girl had
come to no conclusion yet. The three of them came home in summer for at
least part of the season, and always came at Christmas. They brought
with them a different atmosphere--the atmosphere of a wider world. But
the girls helped the mother in the kitchen and Frank advised with the
father about the farm. There was no feeling of shame on one side, or of
apology on the other. It was the kind of thing that has happened on
thousands of American farms.

Sometimes at night Tom spoke of his children to Martha: "They are goin'
to pass us by, Mother. They are goin' to amount to more than we have."

And then he would go to the window and raise the sash.

"Old man?" he would say.

And from the kennel would come a tap-tap that told he was heard.

And Tom continued to hunt with Mac, alone now, for Nell had died of
pneumonia. It was a good combination, the man with the damaged heart and
the dog with the sightless eyes. Tom had to go slow; so did Mac.

Gradually Tom worked out a series of signals which the dog understood.
If there were a ditch ahead Tom would blow once very sharp on his
whistle; if the dog was to turn to the right, he would blow twice, to
the left, three times. Sometimes, of course, the signals got crossed,
and Mac tumbled into a ditch or ran into a tree. Then there would be a
choke in Tom's throat. But these things didn't happen often.

It got to be a familiar sight in the community. Men from the Northern
Hunt Club, men who attended the field trials on the Earle plantation,
came to see the blind dog hunt. Never was such a nose, sportsmen said;
never such intelligence and sagacity.

"Shake hands with the gentlemen, Mac," the proud master would say. "They
speak well of you."

And the setter would go from one to the other and raise his paw, his
head held high after the manner of the blind.

There was never a bright fire in the winter that Mac did not share;
never a home-coming of the children that he, as well as Tom, was not at
the station to meet them; never a choice bit on the table after
Thanksgiving and Christmas but that a portion of it was laid aside for
his plate.

And so his days and years passed and Mac grew old--not feeble, but a bit
slow and a little doting, as old setters become. He would lay his head
on Tom's knee and, unless Tom moved or pushed him away, keep it there
for hours. The same was true of Martha; sometimes