looking for mother help--and he had not misunderstood, though his
heart ached for her suffering as it ached for her. And Marjorie
had been quite right--he had never come back after that one
quarrel, and he would never come. The old colonel had gone to him,
but he had hardly more than opened his lips when he had both hands
on the boy's shoulders with broken words of sympathy and then had
turned away--so quickly had he seen that Jason fully understood
the situation and had disposed of it firmly, proudly, and finally-
-for himself. The mountains were for Jason--there were his duty
and the work of his life. Under June apples turning golden, and
amid the buzzing of bees, the boy went across the orchard, and at
the fence he paused again. Marjorie and her mother were coming out
of the house with Gray, and Jason watched them walk to the stile.
Gray was tanned, and even his blonde head had been turned copper
by the mountain sun, while the girl looked like a great golden-
hearted lily. But it was Gray's face as he looked at her that
caught the boy's eyes and held them fast, for the face was tense,
eager, and worshipping.

He saw Marjorie and her mother drive away, saw Gray wave to them
and turn back to the house, and then he was so shocked at the
quick change to haggard worry that draped his friend like a cloak
from head to foot that he could hardly call to him. And so Jason
waited till Gray had passed within, and then he leaped the fence
and made for the portico. Gray himself answered his ring and with
a flashing smile hurried forward when he saw Jason in the doorway.
The two clasped hands and for one swift instant searched each
other's eyes with questions too deep and delicate to be put into
words--each wondering how much the other might know, each silent
if the other did not know. For Gray had learned from his father