conscious. Never for one instant did its
look change--the quiet, unyielding
endurance that no faith and no philosophy
could ever bring to him. It was ideal
courage, that look, to accept the inevitable
but to fight it just that way. Half
the little mountain town was talking
next day--that such a tragedy was possible
by the public road-side, with relief
within sound of the baby's cry. The
oldest boy was least starved. Might
made right in an extremity like his, and
the boy had taken care of himself. The
young couple who had the second lad
in charge said they had been wakened
at daylight the next morning by some
noise in the room. Looking up, they
saw the little fellow at the fireplace
breaking an egg. He had built a fire,
had got eggs from the kitchen, and was
cooking his breakfast. The little girl
was mischievous and cheery in spite of
her bad plight, and nobody knew of the
baby except Grayson and the doctor.
Grayson would let nobody else in. As
soon as it was well enough to be peevish
and to cry, he took it back to its mother,
who was still abed. A long, dark
mountaineer was there, of whom the woman
seemed half afraid. He followed Grayson