"Oh, he does, eh?"

"Yeth, thir. Uncle Ed he jawth her, then she crieth."

Will's anger and remorse broke out in a groaning curse. "O my
God! I see it all. That great lunkin' houn' has made life a hell fer
her." Then that letter came back to his mind; he had never been
able to put it out of his mind-he never would till he saw her and
asked her pardon.

"Here, my boy, I want you to tell me some more. Where does your
Aunt Agnes live?"

"At gran'pa'th. You know where my gran'pa livth?"

"Well, you do. Now I want you to take this letter to her. Give it to
her." He wrote a little note and folded it. "Now dust out o' here."

The boy slipped away through the trees like a rabbit; his little
brown feet hardly rustled. He was like some little wood animal.
Left alone, the man went back into a reverie that lasted till the
shadows fell on the thick little grove around the spring. He rose ~
last and, taking his stick in hand, walked out to the wood again and
stood there, gazing at the sky. He seemed loath to go farther. The
sky was full of flame-colored clouds floating in a yellow-green
sea, where bars of faint pink streamed broadly away.

As he stood there, feeling the wind lift his hair, listening to the
crickets' ever-present crying, and facing the majesty of space, a