"Is your head bad?" she asked.

"No, no, mother. It is nothing. I am tired," he said, and went upstairs.

Before she went to sleep the mother, as was her custom, looked in upon
him. The boy was lying upon his face with his arms flung over his head,
and when she turned him over to an easier position, on the pillow and
on his cheeks were the marks of tears. Gently she pushed back the thick,
black, wavy locks from his forehead, and kissed him once and again. The
boy turned his face toward her. A long sobbing sigh came from his parted
lips. He opened his eyes.

"That you, mother?" he asked, the old whimsical smile at his lips.
"Good-night."

He settled down into the clothes and in a moment was fast asleep. The
mother stood looking down upon her boy. He had not told her his trouble,
but her touch had brought him comfort, and for the rest she was content
to wait.



CHAPTER II

A FIGHT FOR FREEDOM


The village schoolhouse was packed to the door. Over the crowded forms
there fell a murky light from the smoky swinging lamp that left
dark unexplored depths in the corners of the room. On the walls hung