A Son of the Hills | Page 7

you put it!"
Greeley was thinking how well the government had stocked this
dangerous spy with facts, and so he did not observe the tears in her
eyes.
"There was a little church he built himself--is it still standing? You may
not have heard, but he had a very simple little religion quite his own.
He thought the people up here were more in need of help than foreign
folks, but no regular sect would--would handle him. So he came up a
road he used to call The Appointed Way and just settled down and

learned to love all--the people and the work!"
Greeley was so utterly amazed that the hands which held the pail shook
with excitement.
"That road what you came up is called The Way--short for Appointed
Way. Yon is the little church."
Marcia Lowe raised up and through the thicket behind her she saw the
deserted structure, which still bore the outlines of a church.
"Why, it's all boarded up!" she exclaimed. "Who owns it now?"
The exacting nature of the stranger's questions was unsettling to
Greeley. She seemed determined to tag and classify all the real estate in
the county.
"No one ain't damaged the building," he said drawlingly; "some of the
folks think it is han'ted. I reckon Smith Crothers owns it."
"That man owns too much!" Marcia Lowe gave again her penetrating
laugh. "And I should think the place would be haunted. Just think of
boarding Uncle Theodore up! He who loved sunshine and air and
sweetness so much!"
At this Greeley dropped the pail to the ground, and the indignant horse
reared angrily. This was carrying things too far, and the man's eyes
flashed.
"Uncle?" he gasped sternly.
"Yes, Uncle Theodore Starr. He was my mother's brother. I have no
one to keep me away now--and I loved him so when I was a little child.
They say I am much like him--but then you never saw him. Lately I've
been real homesick for him. He seemed to be calling me from the hills.
I'm going to get your Smith Crothers to let me open up the little church.
I want the sunshine to get in and--and Uncle Theodore to--get out! I'm
going to find where they buried him, and make that a beautiful place

too. You see I've a good deal to do up here! Besides," and now the
cheerful face beamed radiantly on the gaping postmaster, "I'm like
Uncle Starr in more ways than one. He learned to mend men's souls and
I have learned to mend their bodies--it's much the same, you
know--when you love it. I'm--well, I'm an M. D., a medical
doctor--Doctor Marcia Lowe!"
At this Greeley dropped on the bottom step of the porch, wiped the
perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand, and emitted one
word.
"Gawd!" He was not a profane man, but the audacity of this stranger
who was about to settle down among them for purposes best known to
herself, and them who sent her, quite overcame him. Marcia Lowe gave
a hearty laugh and gathered the reins.
"I suppose you never heard of such a thing up here?" she asked
amusedly, "but they are getting commoner down where I hail from. It's
all very foolish--the restrictions about a woman, you know. She can
nurse a body up to the doors of death, but it's taken a good while to
bring people around to seeing that she can mend a body as well, just as
well as a man. You will let me stay among you anyway, I am sure. I do
not want to physic you. It is so much more interesting to live close and
help along. Good-bye, Mr. Greeley--you see your name is over the door!
I am, do not forget"--the woman's eyes twinkled
mischievously--"Doctor Marcia Lowe of Torrance, Mass. Good-bye!
You have been very kind and helpful. I feel that you and I will be good
friends. Get-up, pony!"
She flapped the reins in the most unprofessional manner, and the horse
turned to The Appointed Way with briskness that bespoke his
impatience and a desire for more familiar scenes.
With curious eyes Greeley watched the ramshackle buggy bounce up
and down over the rutty road; he saw the small, slight figure bob about
uncomfortably on the uneven seat, and when the conveyance was lost
behind the trees he went inside with a sure sense that something was
going to happen in The Hollow.

Once again within his own domain he sought his cracker box as if it
were his sanctuary. The fly was still protesting against the dirty
window, and the stillness, except for the buzzing, was unbroken.
Presently, from out the nowhere apparently, old Andrew Townley came
in and shuffled across the floor to the armchair by