THE SHEPHERD AND HIS FLOCK.


All that spring and summer things went smoothly in the Mutton
Hollow neighborhood. The corn was ready to gather, and nothing had
happened at the ranch since Mr. Howitt took charge, while the man,
who had appeared so strangely in their midst, had made a large
place for himself in the hearts of the simple mountaineers.

At first they were disposed to regard him with some distrust, as
one apart; he was so unlike themselves. But when he had changed
his dress for the rough garb of the hillsman, and, meeting them
kindly upon their own ground, had entered so readily into their
life, the people by common consent dropped the distinguishing
title "Mister" for the more familiar one of the backwoods, "Dad."
Not that they lacked in respect or courtesy; it was only their
way. And the quiet shepherd accepted the title with a pleased
smile, seeming to find in the change an honor to be received not
lightly. But while showing such interest in all that made up their
world, the man never opened the door for anyone to enter his past.
They knew no more of his history than the hints he had given Mr.
Matthews the night he came out of the mists.

At the occasional religious meetings in the school house at the
Forks, Mr. Howitt was always present, an attentive listener to the
sermons of the backwoods preacher. And then, seeing his interest,
they asked him to talk to them one day when Parson Bigelow failed
to make his appointment. "He don't holler so much as a regular
parson," said Uncle Josh Hensley, "but he sure talks so we'uns can
understand." From that time they always called upon him at their