The boy wearily dropped his heavy bundle and stood still, listening as
the voice of crickets split the shadows and made the silence audible. A
tear wandered down his brown cheek. They were at supper now, he
whispered--the father and old mother, away back yonder beyond the night.
They were far away; they would never be as near as once they had been,
for he had stepped into the world. And the cat and Old Billy--ah, but
the world was a lonely thing, so wide and tall and empty! And so bare,
so bitter bare! Somehow he had never dreamed of the world as lonely
before; he had fared forth to beckoning hands and luring, and to the
eager hum of human voices, as of some great, swelling music.

Yet now he was alone; the empty night was closing all about him here in
a strange land, and he was afraid. The bundle with his earthly treasure
had hung heavy and heavier on his shoulder; his little horde of money
was tightly wadded in his sock, and the school lay hidden somewhere far
away in the shadows. He wondered how far it was; he looked and harkened,
starting at his own heartbeats, and fearing more and more the long dark
fingers of the night.

Then of a sudden up from the darkness came music. It was human music,
but of a wildness and a weirdness that startled the boy as it fluttered
and danced across the dull red waters of the swamp. He hesitated, then
impelled by some strange power, left the highway and slipped into the
forest of the swamp, shrinking, yet following the song hungrily and half
forgetting his fear. A harsher, shriller note struck in as of many and
ruder voices; but above it flew the first sweet music, birdlike,
abandoned, and the boy crept closer.

The cabin crouched ragged and black at the edge of black waters. An old