A Son of the Hills | Page 4

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