he must go away! The call was distinct and compelling—he must go away! And from that hour he made preparation. At first the effort was small and pitiful. He began to gather whatever Nature provided freely, and turn it into money. With shrewd perception he realized he must overcome his deadly shyness and carry his wares farther than The Hollow if he wished to achieve that upon which he was bent. The Hollow people were poor; The Forge people would give food and clothing for berries and sassafras roots; but Sandy demanded money or that which could be exchanged for money, and so he travelled far with his basket of fragrant berries or shining nuts and in time he found himself at the Waldens' back door facing a tall black woman, in turban and kerchief, with the child Cynthia beside her.

"Do you-all want to buy eight quarts of wild strawberries?" he asked in that low fine voice of his.

"Buy?" demanded Lily Ivy scornfully. "Miss Cyn, honey, go fotch Miss Ann and tell her one ob dem Morleys is here axing us-all to buy his berries, and him in shreds and tatters!"

Presently Cynthia returned with her aunt. Miss Walden was then sixty, but she looked seventy-five at least; she was a stern, detached woman who dealt with things individually and as she could—she never sought to comprehend that which was not writ large and clear. She was not a dull nor an ignorant woman, but she had been carried on the sluggish current of life with small effort or resistance. She did her task and made no demands.

"So you're Morley's boy?" she asked curiously; she had still the interest of the great lady for her dependents. The Morleys had become long since "poor whites," but Ann Walden knew their traditions. The family had slunk into hiding ever since Martin had taken the Woman Mary into his cabin, and Miss Walden was surprised and aroused to find one of them coming to the surface at her back door with so unusual a request as Cynthia had repeated.

"Yes, ma'am;" Sandy replied, his strange eyes fixed upon the calm old face.

"And what do you want?"

"I want to sell eight quarts of strawberries, ma'am. They are five cents a quart; that's what they are giving down to The Forge."

"Then why don't you take them to The Forge?"

"The heat, ma'am, will wilt them. They are right fresh now—I thought I'd give you-all the first chance."

"And you want money for the berries—and you in rags and starved, I warrant?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Ann Walden grew more interested.

"Would you—take eggs for them?" she asked; "eggs are bringing twenty cents a dozen now."

"Yes, ma'am."

"How do I know you are honest? How do I know the basket isn't stuffed with leaves in the bottom? What's your name?"

"Sandy, ma'am. And please, ma'am, you can measure the berries."

"Ivy, bring the quart measure, and the earthen bowl."

When the implements were brought, Miss Walden took things in her own hands, while Ivy, with the disdain of the old family black servant for the poor white, stood by like an avenging Fate. The child Cynthia was all a-tremble. She was young, lovely, and vital. Youth took up arms for youth, and watched the outcome with jealous and anxious eyes.

"One, two, three——" the rich, fragrant fruit fell into the bowl with luscious, soft thuds; the red juice oozed out like fresh blood.

"Five, six, seven—eight, and——"

"A lot left over, Aunt Ann, counting dents in the measure and all."

It was Cynthia who spoke, and her big, gray eyes were dancing in triumph.

"More'n eight quarts, Aunt Ann."

"Umph!" ejaculated Ivy.

"Give the boy two dozen eggs and three over," commanded Miss Walden. "Take them to Tod Greeley at the post office and tell him they are Walden eggs."

After Sandy had departed Ivy aired her views.

"I reckon we-all better make jam of dem berries right soon. I clar I allers 'spect to find a yaller streak in dem Morleys."

Cynthia was leaning against the kitchen table, her eyes shining and her breath coming a bit quickly.

"Perhaps," she said, with the slow smile which curled the corners of her mouth so deliciously, "perhaps the yellow streak in Sandy Morley is—gold!"

That was the beginning of Sandy's first great inspiration. Again and again he went to the Walden place with his wares and exchanged them for things that could be readily turned into money. Then Cynthia, from out her own generous loveliness, offered to pass over the instruction Ann Walden imparted to her, to the boy; he had before that told her of his ambition and determination to go away, and her vivid imagination was stirred.

"It's not only money," Cynthia had astutely warned him—"not only money you must have, Sandy, but learning; no one can take that away from you!"

With a fine air of the benefactress, Cynthia Walden took Sandy Morley's dense ignorance in charge. It was quite in keeping with the girl's idea of things as they ought to be, that she should thus illumine and guide the boy's path.

She was charmingly firm but delightfully playful. She was a hard mistress but a lovely child, and the youth that was starving in her met Sandy on a level, untouched by conventions or traditions. Presently a palpitating sense of power and possession came to her. The creature who was at first but the recipient of her charity and nobility displayed traits that compelled respect and admiration. Sandy easily outstripped her after a time. His questions put her on her mettle. He never overstepped the bounds that she in her pretty childish fancy set, but he reached across them with pleading adoration and hungry mind. He seemed to urge her to get for him what he could not get for himself. And so, with the freedom of knowledge, Sandy, still keeping to his place, began to assume proportions and importance quite thrilling. Then it was that Cynthia Walden, with keenness and foresight, made her claims upon the boy.

With a pretty show of condescending kindness she clutched him to her with invisible ties. For her he must do thus and so! He must become a great—oh! a very great—man and give her all the credit! If he went away—when he went away—he must never, never, never forget her or what she had done for him! In short, he must be her abject slave and pay homage to her all the days of his life!

Sandy was quite willing to comply with all these demands; they were made in a spirit so sweet and winsome, and they were so obviously simple and just, that he rose to the call with grateful response, but with that strange something in reserve that Cynthia could not then understand or classify. It was as though Sandy had said to her: "Your slave? Yes, but no fetters or chains, thank you!"

Soon after Mary came to live in the Morley cabin Sandy was relegated to an old outhouse for sleeping quarters. The child had been horribly frightened at first, but, as the quarrels and disturbances grew in power between Martin and the woman, he was grateful for the quiet and detachment of his bed-chamber. A child was born to Mary and Martin during the year following the change in the family, but Sandy looked upon his half-sister with little interest. That the boy was not driven entirely from the home place was due to the fact that through him came the only money available. Martin exchanged his spasmodic labour for clothing or food, but Sandy brought cash. Mary thought he gave her all, and because of that he was tolerated.

Sandy did not, however, give the woman all, or even half, of what he earned. He gave her one third; the rest was placed in a tin box and hidden under a rock in the woods beyond the Branch. The boy never counted the money, he could not put himself to that test of discouragement or elation. The time was not yet, and it was significant of him that he plodded along, doing the best that was in him, until the call came; the last final call to leave all and go forth.

Once, during the years between seven and fourteen, Sandy had had an awakening and a warning. Then it was that his