THE VOICE FROM OUT THE MISTS.


While Young Matt was gone to the corral in the valley to see that
the sheep were safely folded for the night, and the two women were
busy in the house with their after-supper work, Mr. Matthews and
his guest sat on the front porch.

"My name is Howitt, Daniel Howitt," the man said in answer to the
host's question. But, as he spoke, there was in his manner a touch
of embarrassment, and he continued quickly as if to prevent
further question, "You have two remarkable children, sir; that boy
is the finest specimen of manhood I have ever seen, and the girl
is remarkable--remarkable, sir. You will pardon me, I am sure, but
I am an enthusiastic lover of my kind, and I certainly have never
seen such a pair."

The grim face of the elder Matthews showed both pleasure and
amusement. "You're mistaken, Mister; the boy's mine alright, an'
he's all that you say, an' more, I reckon. I doubt if there's a
man in the hills can match him to-day; not excepting Wash Gibbs;
an' he's a mighty good boy, too. But the girl is a daughter of a
neighbor, and no kin at all."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the other, "you have only one child then?"

The amused smile left the face of the old mountaineer, as he
answered slowly, "There was six boys, sir; this one, Grant, is the
youngest. The others lie over there." He pointed with his pipe to