make out one of the boys feeding stock and another chopping wood--was that the
school-master? There was the huge form of old Joel at the fence talking with a
neighbor. He was gesticulating as though angry, and the old mother came to the
door as the neighbor moved away with a shuffling gait that the boy knew
belonged to the Dillon breed. Where was Jack? Jack! Chad sprang to his feet
and went down the hill on a run. He climbed the orchard fence, breaking the
top rail in his eagerness, and as he neared the house, he gave a shrill yell.
A scarlet figure flashed like a flame out of the door, with an answering cry,
and the Turners followed:

"Why, boy," roared old Joel. "Mammy, hit's Chad!"

Dolph dropped an armful of feed. The man with the axe left it stuck in a log,
and each man shouted:

"Chad!"

The mountaineers are an undemonstrative race, but Mother Turner took the boy
in her arms and the rest crowded around, slapping him on the back and all
asking questions at once. Dolph and Rube and Tom. Yes, and there was the
school-master--every face was almost tender with love for the boy. But where
was Jack?

"Where's--where's Jack?" said Chad.

Old Joel changed face--looking angry; the rest were grave. Only the old mother
spoke:

"Jack's all right."