level growing fields stretched away to the north in a blaze of warming
yellow. A boy was leading a harnessed horse along the road; behind him
lagged a dog to which the boy was cheerfully whistling and calling. A
covey of quails rose from a patch of blackberry vines and fluttered
away toward the nearest hillside.

Yes, he was going to turn over a new leaf. Mostyn was quite sure of
this. He would take Saunders for his model instead of that crack-
brained Delbridge who had the hide of an ox and no refinement of
feeling. Yes, yes, and forget--above all, he would forget; that was
the thing.

At this moment he saw Dolly crossing the room with the child in her
arms. It was only for an instant, and yet he noted the unspeakable
tenderness which pervaded her attitude and movement. He was reminded
of a picture of a Madonna he had seen in a gallery in New York. The
crying of the child had ceased; there was scarcely any sound in the
cabin, for Dolly's tread was as light as falling snow.

From the doorway came Tobe Barnett. He approached Mostyn in a most
dejected mien.

"This is Mr. Mostyn, ain't it?" he asked. "I heard Tom Drake say they
was expectin' you up."

The banker nodded. "How do you think the baby is now?" he asked,
considerately.

"Only the Lord could answer that, sir," the man sighed. "I believe it
would have died in the night if Miss Dolly hadn't got out o' bed an'