or troubled by strange dreams at night the feel of his father's arms
about him quieted him. In his arms the boy went to sleep happily. In
the mind of the father there was a single recurring thought, "We have
but the one bairn, we'll not put him into the hole in the ground," he
said, looking eagerly to the mother for approval.

Twice had Cracked McGregor walked with his son on a Sunday afternoon.
Taking the lad by the hand the miner went up the face of the hill,
past the last of the miners' houses, through the grove of pine trees
at the summit and on over the hill into sight of a wide valley on the
farther side. When he walked he twisted his head far to one side like
one listening. A falling timber in the mines had given him a deformed
shoulder and left a great scar on his face, partly covered by a red
beard filled with coal dust. The blow that had deformed his shoulder
had clouded his mind. He muttered as he walked along the road and
talked to himself like an old man.

The red-haired boy ran beside his father happily. He did not see the
smiles on the faces of the miners, who came down the hill and stopped
to look at the odd pair. The miners went on down the road to sit in
front of the stores on Main Street, their day brightened by the memory
of the hurrying McGregors. They had a remark they tossed about. "Nance
McGregor should not have looked at her man when she conceived," they
said.

Up the face of the hill climbed the McGregors. In the mind of the boy
a thousand questions wanted answering. Looking at the silent gloomy
face of his father, he choked back the questions rising in his throat,
saving them for the quiet hour with his mother when Cracked McGregor
was gone to the mine. He wanted to know of the boyhood of his father,