into his life and were deepened by others that fell across them.
Before he could have told the story, all memory of whom he left or
whence he came had been swept away. It was a house of riddles
where Allen dwelt--a rude thing of logs and ladders and a low roof
and two rooms. Yet one ladder led high to glories no pen may
describe. The Allens, with this rude shelter, found delight in
dreams of an eternal home whose splendour and luxury would have
made them miserable here below. What a riddle was this! And then,
as to the boy Sid, there was the riddle of his coming, and again
that of his character, which latter was, indeed, not easy to solve.
There were few books and no learning in that home. For three
winters Trove tramped a trail to the schoolhouse two miles away,
and had no further schooling until he was a big, blond boy of
fifteen, with red cheeks, and eyes large, blue, and discerning, and
hands hardened to the axe helve. He had then discovered the beauty
of the woods and begun to study the wild folk that live in holes
and thickets. He had a fine face. You would have called him
handsome, but not they among whom he lived. With them handsome was
as handsome did, and the face of a man, if it were cleanly, was
never a proper cause of blame or compliment. But there was that in
his soul, which even now had waked the mother's wonder and set
forth a riddle none were able to solve.




III

The Clock Tinker