built a low pen, as is the custom of the mountaineers, close about the fresh
mound, and, borrowing a board or two from each of the other mounds, covered
the grave from the rain. Then he sunk the axe into the trunk of the great
poplar as high up as he could reach--so that it could easily be seen--and
brushing the sweat from his face, he knelt down:

"God!" he said, simply, "I hain't nothin' but a boy, but I got to ack like a
man now. I'm a-goin' now. I don't believe You keer much and seems like I bring
ever'body bad luck: an' I'm a-goin' to live up hyeh on the mountain jes' as
long as I can. I don't want you to think I'm a-complainin'--fer I ain't. Only
hit does seem sort o' curious that You'd let me be down hyah--with me
a-keerint fer nobody now, an' nobody a-keerin' fer me. But Thy ways is
inscrutable--leastwise, that's whut the circuit-rider says--an' I ain't got a
word more to say--Amen."

Chad rose then and Jack, who had sat perfectly still, with his head cocked to
one side, and his ears straight forward in wonder over this strange
proceeding, sprang into the air, when Chad picked up his gun, and, with a
joyful bark, circled a clump of bushes and sped back, leaping as high as the
little fellow's head and trying to lick his face--for Jack was a rover, too.

The sun was low when the two waifs turned their backs upon it, and the blue
shadows in valley and ravine were darkening fast. Down the spur they went
swiftly--across the river and up the slope of Pine Mountain. As they climbed,
Chad heard the last faint sound of a cow-bell far below him and he stopped
short, with a lump in his throat that hurt. Soon darkness fell, and, on the
very top, the boy made a fire with his flint and steel, cooked a little bacon,
warmed his corn-pone, munched them and, wrapping his blanket around him and
letting Jack curl into the hollow of his legs and stomach, turned his face to
the kindly stars and went to sleep.