cow to a farmer there. He said they took her away from her calf, and the
poor thing refused to eat. She just paced up and down a pasture fence
from morning till night, crying for her calf. We got the calf, and
carried it to its mother. I'll never forget the sight, and I'll never
regret it, either--and what's best, the man who had got the cow was so
worked up over its almost human grief, that he paid Dale for the calf,
too, and kept it."

The memory of the incident brightened up Andy momentarily. Then, his
glance flitting to the distant roof of a small neat cottage in a pretty
grove of cedars, his face fell again. He choked on a great lump in
his throat.

"Ginger!" he whistled dolefully, "how can I ever face the music over
there!"

The cottage was Andy's home, but the thought had no charm or sweetness
for the lone orphan boy whom its roof had grudgingly sheltered for the
past five years.

Once it had belonged to his father. He had died when Andy was ten years
old. Then it had passed into the legal possession of Mr. Wildwood's
half-sister, Miss Lavinia Talcott.

This aunt was Andy's nearest relative. He had lived with her since his
father's death, if it could be called living.

Miss Lavinia's favorite topic was the sure visitation of the sins of the
father upon his children.