The Shepherd of the Hills | Page 9

to stop a spell, for it will do him good. If it hadn't been
for Sammy Lane runnin' in every day or two, I don't guess he could
have stood it at all. I sure don't know what we'll do now that she's goin'
away. Then there's--there's--that at the ranch in Mutton Hollow; but I
guess I'd better not try to tell you about that. I wish Mr. Matthews
would, though; maybe he will. You know so much more than us; I
know most you could help us or tell us about things.
CHAPTER V.
"JEST NOBODY."
After the midday meal, while walking about the place, Mr. Howitt
found a well worn path; it led him to the group of pines not far from the
house, where five rough head stones marked the five mounds placed
side by side. A little apart from these was another mound, alone.
Beneath the pines the needles made a carpet, firm and smooth, figured
by the wild woodbine that clambered over the graves; moss had
gathered on the head stones, and the wind, in the dark branches above,
moaned ceaselessly. About the little plot of ground a rustic fence of
poles was built, and the path led to a stile by which one might enter the
enclosure.
The stranger seated himself upon the rude steps. Below and far away he
saw the low hills, rolling ridge on ridge like the waves of a great sea,
until in the blue distance they were so lost in the sky that he could not
say which was mountain and which was cloud. His poet heart was
stirred at sight of the vast reaches of the forest all shifting light and
shadows; the cool depths of the near-by woods with the sunlight
filtering through the leafy arches in streaks and patches of gold on
green; and the wide, wide sky with fleets of cloud ships sailing to
unseen ports below the hills.
The man sat very still, and as he looked the worn face changed; once,
as if at some pleasing memory, he smiled. A gray squirrel with bright
eyes full of curious regard peeped over the limb of an oak; a red bird

hopping from bush to bush whistled to his mate; and a bob-white's
quick call came from a nearby thicket.
The dreamer was aroused at last by the musical tinkle of a bell. He
turned his face toward the sound, but could see nothing. The bell was
coming nearer; it came nearer still. Then he saw here and there through
the trees small, moving patches of white; an old ewe followed by two
lambs came from behind a clump of bushes, and the moving patches of
white shaped themselves into other sheep feeding in the timber.
Mr. Howitt sat quite still, and, while the old ewe paused to look at him,
the lambs took advantage of the opportunity, until their mother was
satisfied with her inspection, and by moving on, upset them. Soon the
whole flock surrounded him, and, after the first lingering look of
inquiry, paid no heed to his presence.
Then from somewhere among the trees came the quick, low bark of a
dog. The man looked carefully in every direction; be could see nothing
but the sheep, yet he felt himself observed. Again came the short bark;
and this time a voice--a girl's voice, Mr. Howitt thought--said, "It's
alright, Brave; go on, brother." And from behind a big rock not far
away a shepherd dog appeared, followed by a youth of some fifteen
years.
He was a lightly built boy; a bit tall for his age, perhaps, but perfectly
erect; and his every movement was one of indescribable grace, while he
managed, somehow, to wear his rough backwoods garments with an air
of distinction as remarkable as it was charming. The face was finely
molded, almost girlish, with the large gray eyes, and its frame of
yellow, golden hair. It was a sad face when in repose, yet wonderfully
responsive to every passing thought and mood. But the eyes, with their
strange expression, and shifting light, proclaimed the lad's mental
condition.
As the boy came forward in a shy, hesitating way, an expression of
amazement and wonder crept into the stranger's face; he left his seat
and started forward. "Howard," he said; "Howard."

"That ain't his name, Mister; his name's Pete," returned the youth, in
low, soft tones.
In the voice and manner of the lad, no less than in his face and eyes, Mr.
Howitt read his story. Unconsciously he echoed the words of Mr.
Matthews, "Poor Pete."
The dog lifted his head and looked into the man's face, while his tail
wagged a joyful greeting, and, as the man stooped to pat the animal and
speak a few kind words, a beautiful