mother's marriage. The girl did not know what the others were. She had
never looked into them closely, but she knew that her mother had counted
them precious. These she pinned into the bosom of her calico gown. Then
she was ready.

She gave one swift glance of farewell about the cabin where she had spent
nearly all of her life that she could remember, gathered up the two
flour-sacks and an old coat of her father's that hung on the wall,
remembering at the last minute to put into its pocket the few matches and
the single candle left in the house, and went out from the cabin, closing
the door behind her.

She paused, looking down the road, and listened again; but no sound came
to her save a distant howl of a wolf. The moon rode high and clear by this
time; and it seemed not so lonely here, with everything bathed in soft
silver, as it had in the darkening cabin with its flickering candle.

The girl stole out from the cabin and stealthily across the patch of
moonlight into the shadow of the shackly barn where stamped the poor,
ill-fed, faithful horse that her brother had ridden to his death upon. All
her movements were stealthy as a cat's.

She laid the old coat over the horse's back, swung her brother's saddle
into place,--she had none of her own, and could ride his, or without any;
it made no difference, for she was perfectly at home on horseback,--and
strapped the girths with trembling fingers that were icy cold with
excitement. Across the saddle-bows she hung the two flour-sacks containing
her provisions. Then with added caution she tied some old burlap about
each of the horse's feet. She must make no sound and leave no track as
she stole forth into the great world.