that was the best the girl had to give.

She regarded, with that strange interpretation of the lonely hills, all
outsiders as foreigners. She was receiving benefits from them, her only
chance of life, and while she blindly repaid in services, Mary's roots
clung to the cabin life; her affections to the fast-decaying hovel from
which she had been rescued.

Jed was the only familiar creature left to Mary's inner consciousness.
He belonged to the hills--if not of them, and while his birthright made
it possible for him to assimilate, he shared with Mary the feeling that
he was among strangers.

Jed thought in strains of "quality"; Mary in terms of "outlanders." But
both served loyally.

The morning that Jed was to start on his mysterious errand--and he
gloried in the mystery--Mary was "minding" bread in the kitchen and
"chuncking" wood in the stove with a lavish hand. The Sisters were at
prayer in the tiny chapel which had been evolved from a small west room;
and old Aunt Becky Adams was plodding down the rugged trail from Thunder
Peak. Meredith Thornton, too, was nearing her destination and The Ship
was on The Rock.

Presently Mary, having tested the state of the golden-brown ovals in the
oven--and she could do it to a nicety--came out of the kitchen,
followed by a delicious smell of crisping wheat, and sat down upon the
step of the porch to watch Jed polishing the harness of Washington and
Lincoln--the grave, reliable team upon whom Jed spared no toil.