Over there the twin spirals of smoke no longer rose on either side
of the ridge and drifted upward, for both cabins were closed.
Jason's sale was just over--the sale of one cow, two pigs, a dozen
chickens, one stove, and a few pots and pans--the neighbors were
gone, and Jason sat alone on the porch with more money in his
pocket than he had ever seen at one time in his life. His bow and
arrow were in one hand, his father's rifle was over his shoulder,
and his old nag was hitched to the fence. The time had come. He
had taken a farewell look at the black column of coal he had
unearthed for others, the circuit rider would tend his little
field of corn on shares, Mavis would live with the circuit rider's
wife, and his grandfather had sternly forbidden the boy to take
any hand in the feud. The geologist had told him to go away and
get an education, his Uncle Arch had offered to pay his way if he
would go to the Bluegrass to school--an offer that the boy curtly
declined--and now he was starting to the settlement school of
which he had heard so much, in the county-seat of an adjoining
county. For, even though run by women, it must be better than
nothing, better than being beholden to his Uncle Arch, better than
a place where people and country were strange. So, Jason mounted
his horse, rode down to the forks of the creek and drew up at the
circuit rider's house, where Mavis and the old woman came out to
the gate to say good-by. The boy had not thought much about the
little girl and the loneliness of her life after he was gone, for
he was the man, he was the one to go forth and do; and it was for
Mavis to wait for him to come back. But when he handed her the bow
and arrow and told her they were hers, the sight of her face
worried him deeply.

"I'm a-goin' over thar an' if I like it an' thar's a place fer