a large handkerchief.

"Am I to take the gun?" asked he, gulping down his emotion as best he
could.

"No!" almost shouted the old man. "What business you got with a gun?
Come now; are you ready?"

Ralph nodded; his heart was too full to speak.

The old man stood aside and pointed to the door. Ralph held out his
hand.

"Good by," he managed to falter forth. "May God forgive you for
turnin' me out this day."

He passed through the yard, feeling for the gate, for his eyes were dim
with moisture. Crossing the foot log, he walked on until he came to a
rise of ground just where the road made a sudden turn.

Then he wheeled, dashed the tears away, and took a last look at the
place where he was born and had always lived.

Shut in by wild and rugged mountains, far from the world's great life,
humble and homely, it was still the only place on earth where the
orphaned lad had felt that he had any natural right to be. And now,
even this slender thread had been rudely severed by his nearest living
relative.

"Good-by, old home," said he audibly, as he waved his hand in a