corroboration. "But I hain't never hed the right medjure o' respec'
out'n Nate, an' his dad hain't, nuther."

Birt listened vaguely to this account of his friend's filial
shortcomings, his absent eyes fixed upon the wide landscape, and his
mind busy with the anxious problems of Nate's broken promises.

And the big red ball of the setting sun seemed at last to roll off
the plane of the horizon, and it disappeared amidst the fiery
emblazonment of clouds with which it had enriched the west. But all
the world was not so splendid; midway below the dark purple summits
a dun, opaque vapor asserted itself in dreary, aerial suspension.
Beneath it he could see a file of cows, homeward bound, along the
road that encircled the mountain's base. He heard them low, and
this reminded him that night was near, for all that the zenith was
azure, and for all that the west was aglow. And he remembered he
had a good many odd jobs to do before dark. And so he turned his
face homeward.



CHAPTER V.

Birt had always been held in high esteem by the men at the tanyard.
Suddenly, however, the feeling toward him cooled. He remembered
afterward, although at the time he was too absorbed to fully
appreciate it, that this change began one day shortly after he had
learned of Nate's departure. As he went mechanically about his
work, he was pondering futilely upon his friend's mysterious
journey, and his tantalizing hopes lying untried in the depths of