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The Heart of the Hills

The Heart of the Hills

JOHN FOX
Foreword by Darlene Wilson
Copyright Date: 1913
Pages: 432
https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt130jnfg
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    The Heart of the Hills
    Book Description:

    First published in 1913,The Heart of the Hillsis the last novel completed by John Fox Jr. and the final piece in his mountain trilogy. This companion toThe Little Shepherd of Kingdom ComeandThe Trail of the Lonesome Pineis crucial to an understanding of Fox's views.

    InThe Heart of the HillsFox revises his earlier thoughts about mountain people. He depicts more clearly than in his previous work just how they were exploited by outside industrialists-those men who, in the words of Fox's hero Jason Hawn, "got rich diggin' our coal an' cuttin' our timber." He also reveals the long-term impact of this exploitation on the environment. Having witnessed the ravages of clearcutting on his travels through the mountain country of Kentucky and Virginia in 1911-1912, Fox was all the more receptive to the warnings voiced by his environmentally conscious father. From their letters and diaries it is clear that John Fox Sr.'s influence permeatesThe Heart of the Hills; in this work, dedicated to his dying father, Fox determined to make amends to the mountain people.

    eISBN: 978-0-8131-5812-9
    Subjects: Language & Literature

Table of Contents

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  1. Front Matter
    (pp. i-vi)
  2. FOREWORD
    (pp. vii-xxviii)

    Both admirers and critics of Kentucky-born novelist John Fox Jr. (1862-1919) will welcome this publication. They may initially be surprised, forThe Heart of the Hills(1912) is rarely cited as one of his significant works. Indeed, treatments of Fox’s career have tended to shrink in recent years to three volumes: the 1901 collection of allegedly nonfiction essays,Blue Grass and Rhododendron,and two short novels,The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come(1903) andThe Trail of the Lonesome Pine(1907).

    Still, one can mention John Fox in and beyond Kentucky, receive a blank look, and yet arouse recognition by...

  3. I
    (pp. 1-4)

    Twin spirals of blue smoke rose on either side of the spur, crept tendril-like up two dark ravines, and clearing the feathery green crests of the trees, drifted lazily on upward until, high above, they melted shyly together and into the haze that veiled the drowsy face of the mountain.

    Each rose from a little log cabin clinging to the side of a little hollow at the head of a little creek. About each cabin was a rickety fence, a patch of garden, and a little cleared hill-side, rocky, full of stumps, and crazily traced with thin green spears of...

  4. II
    (pp. 5-16)

    On the other side, too, a similar branch ran down into another creek which looped around the long slanting side of the spur and emptied, too, into the Cumberland. At the mouth of each creek the river made a great bend, and in the sweep of each were rich bottom lands. A century before, a Hawn had settled in one bottom, the lower one, and a Honeycutt in the other. As each family multiplied, more land was cleared up each creek by sons and grandsons until in each cove a clan was formed. No one knew when and for what...

  5. III
    (pp. 17-24)

    The two little strangers sat in cane-bottomed chairs before the open door, still looking about them with curious eyes at the strings of things hanging from the smoke-browned rafters—beans, red pepper-pods, and twists of homegrown tobacco, the girl’s eyes taking in the old spinning-wheel in the corner, the piles of brilliantly figured quilts between the foot-boards of the two beds ranged along one side of the room, and the boy’s, catching eagerly the butt of a big revolver projecting from the mantel-piece, a Winchester standing in one corner, a long, old-fashioned squirrel rifle athwart a pair of buck antlers...

  6. IV
    (pp. 25-31)

    On they trudged, the boy plodding sturdily ahead, the little girl slipping mountainfashion behind. Not once did she come abreast with him, and not one word did either say, but the mind and heart of both were busy. All the way the frown overcasting the boy’s face stayed like a shadow, for he had left trouble at home, he had met trouble, and to trouble he was going back. The old was definite enough and he knew how to handle it, but the new bothered him sorely. That stranger boy was a fighter, and Jason’s honest soul told him that...

  7. V
    (pp. 32-46)

    Down the river road loped Arch Hawn the next morning, his square chin low with thought, his shrewd eyes almost closed, and his straight lips closed hard on the cane stem of an unlighted pipe. Of all the Hawns he had been born the poorest in goods and chattels and the richest in shrewd resource, restless energy, and keen foresight. He had gone to the settlements when he was a lad, he had always been coming and going ever since, and the word was that he had been to far-away cities in the outer world that were as unfamiliar to...

  8. VI
    (pp. 47-53)

    The cabin was unlighted when Jason came in sight of it and apprehension straightway seized him; so that he broke into a run, but stopped at the gate and crept slowly to the porch and almost on tiptoe opened the door. The fire was low, but the look of things was unchanged, and on the kitchen table he saw his cold supper laid for him. His mother had maybe gone over the ridge for some reason to stay all night, so he gobbled his food hastily and, still uneasy, put forth for Mavis’s cabin over the hill. That cabin, too,...

  9. VII
    (pp. 54-62)

    Knowing but little of his brother in the hills, the man from the lowland Blue-grass was puzzled and amazed that all feeling he could observe was directed solely at the deed itself and not at the way it was done. No indignation was expressed at what was to him the contemptible cowardice involved—indeed little was said at all, but the colonel could feel the air tense and lowering with a silent deadly spirit of revenge, and he would have been more puzzled had he known the indifference on die part of the Hawns as to whether the act of...

  10. [Illustration]
    (pp. None)
  11. VIII
    (pp. 63-73)

    St. hilda sat on the vine-covered porch of her little log cabin, high on the hill-side, with a look of peace in her big dreaming eyes. From the frame house a few rods below her, mountain children—boys and girls—were darting in and out, busy as bees, and, unlike the dumb, pathetic little people out in the hills, alert, keen-eyed, cheerful, and happy. Under the log foot-bridge the shining creek ran down past the mountain village below, where the cupola of the courthouse rose above the hot dirt streets, the ramshackle hotel, and the dingy stores and frame dwellings...

  12. IX
    (pp. 74-90)

    September in the Blue-grass. The earth cooling from the summer’s heat, the nights vigorous and chill, the fields greening with a second spring. Skies long, low, hazy, and gently arched over rolling field and meadow and woodland. The trees gray with the dust that had sifted all summer long from the limestone turnpikes. The streams shrunken to rivulets that trickled through crevices between broad flat stones and oozed through beds of water-cress and crowfoot, horse-mint and pickerel-weed, the wells low, cisterns empty, and recourse for water to barrels and the sunken ponds. The farmers cutting corn, still green, for stock,...

  13. X
    (pp. 91-97)

    On the top of a bushy foot-hill the old nag stopped, lifted her head, and threw her ears forward as though to gaze, like any traveller to a strange land, upon the rolling expanse beneath, and the lad on her back voiced her surprise and his own with a long, low whistle of amazement. He folded his hands on the pommel of his saddle and the two searched the plains below long and hard, for neither knew so much level land was spread out anywhere on the face of the earth. The lad had a huge pistol buckled around him;...

  14. XI
    (pp. 98-112)

    The last sunset had been clear and Jack Frost had got busy. All the preceding day the clouds had hung low and kept the air chill so that the night was good for that arch-imp of Satan who has got himself enshrined in the hearts of little children. At dawn Jason saw the robe of pure white which the little magician had spun and drawn close to the breast of the earth. The first light turned it silver and showed it decked with flowers and jewels, that the old mother might mistake it, perhaps, for a wedding-gown instead of a...

  15. XII
    (pp. 113-122)

    Christmas was approaching and no greater wonder had ever dawned on the lives of Mavis and Jason than the way these people in the settlements made ready for it. In the mountains many had never heard of Christmas and few of Christmas stockings, Santa Claus, and catching Christmas gifts—not even the Hawns. But Mavis and Jason had known of Christmas, had celebrated it after the mountain way, and knew, moreover, what the Blue-grass children did not know, of old Christmas as well, which came just twelve days after the new. At midnight of old Christmas, so the old folks...

  16. XIII
    (pp. 123-133)

    Slowly the lad rode westward, for the reason that he was not yet quite ready to pass between those two big-pillared houses again, and because just then whatever his way—no matter. His anger was all gone now and his brain was clear, but he was bewildered. Throughout the day he had done nothing that he thought was wrong, and yet throughout the day he had done nothing that seemed to be right. This land was not for him—he did not understand the ways of it and the people, and they did not understand him. Even the rock-pecker had...

  17. XIV
    (pp. 134-142)

    Little Mavis did not reach the hills. At sunrise a few miles down the road, the two met Steve Hawn on a borrowed horse, his pistol buckled around him and his face pale and sleepless.

    “Whar you two goin’?” he asked roughly.

    “Home,” was Jason’s short answer, and he felt Mavis’s arm about his waist begin to tremble.

    “Git off, Mavis, an’ git up hyeh behind me. Yo’ home's with me.”

    Jason valiantly reached for his gun, but Mavis caught his hand and, holding it, slipped to the ground.

    “Don’t, Jasie—I’ll come, pap, I’ll come.” Whereat Steve laughed

    Whereat...

  18. XV
    (pp. 143-151)

    The funeral of old Hiram Sudduth, Marjorie’s grandfather on her mother’s side, was over. The old man had been laid to rest, by the side of his father and his pioneer grandfather, in the cedar-filled burying-ground on the broad farm that had belonged in turn to the three in an adjoining county that was the last stronghold of conservatism in the Blue-grass world, and John Burnham, the school-master, who had spent the night with an old friend after the funeral, was driving home. Not that there had not been many changes in that stronghold, too, but they were fewer than...

  19. XVI
    (pp. 152-164)

    The boy was curled up on the rear seat of the smoking-car. His face was upturned to the glare of light above him, the train bumped, jerked, and swayed; smoke and dust rolled in at the open window and cinders stung his face, but he slept as peacefully as though he were in one of the huge feather-beds at his grandfather’s house—slept until the conductor shook him by the shoulder, when he opened his eyes, grunted, and closed them again. The train stopped, a brakeman yanked him roughly to his feet, put a cheap suit-case into his hand, and...

  20. XVII
    (pp. 165-174)

    There was little about Jason and his school career that John Burnham had not heard from his friend St. Hilda, for she kept sending at intervals reports of him, so that Burnham knew how doggedly the lad had worked in school and out; what a leader he was among his fellows, and how, that he might keep out of the feud, he had never gone to his grandfather’s even during vacations, except for a day or two, but had hired himself out to some mountain farmer and had toiled like a slave, always within St. Hilda’s reach. She had won...

  21. XVIII
    (pp. 175-191)

    The campus was thick with grass and full of trees, there were buildings of red brick everywhere, and all were deserted. He began to feel that the constable had made game of him, and he was indignant. Nobody in the mountains would treat a stranger that way; but he had reached his goal, and, no matter when “school took up,” he was there.

    Still, he couldn’t help rising restlessly once, and then with a deep breath he patiently sat down again and waited, looking eagerly around meanwhile. The trees about him were low and young—they looked like maples—and...

  22. XIX
    (pp. 192-196)

    Jason drew the top bed in a bare-walled, bare-floored room with two other boys, as green and countrified as was he, and he took turns with them making up those beds, carrying water for the one tin basin, and sweeping up the floor with the broom that stood in the corner behind it. But even then the stark simplicity of his life was a luxury. His meals cost him three dollars a week, and that most serious item began to worry him, but not for long. Within two weeks he was meeting a part of that outlay by delivering the...

  23. XX
    (pp. 197-202)

    Already the coach had asked Jason to try foot-ball, but the boy had kept away from the field, for the truth was that he had but one suit of clothes and he couldn’t afford to have them soiled and torn. Gray suspected this, and told the coach, who explained to Jason that practice clothes would be furnished him, but still the boy did not come until one day when, out of curiosity, he wandered over to the field to see what the game was like. Soon his eyes brightened, his lips parted, and his face grew tense as the players...

  24. XXI
    (pp. 203-213)

    Meanwhile that political storm was raging and Jason got at the heart of it through his morning paper and John Burnham. He knew that at home Republicans ran against Republicans for all offices, and now he learned that his own mountains were the Gibraltar of that party, and that the line of its fortifications ran from the Big Sandy, three hundred miles by public roads, to the line of Tennessee. When free silver had shattered the Democratic ranks three years before, the mountaineers had leaped forth and unfurled the Republican flag over the State for the first time since the...

  25. XXII
    (pp. 214-217)

    The miracle had happened, and just how nobody could ever say. The boy had appeared in the door-way and had paused there full in the light. No revolver was visible—it could hardly have been concealed in the much-too-small clothes that he wore—and his eyes flashed no challenge. But he stood there an instant, with face set and stern, and then he walked slowly to the old rattletrap vehicle, and, unchallenged, drove away, as, unchallenged, he walked quietly back to his room again. That defiance alone would have marked him with no little dignity. It gave John Burnham a...

  26. XXIII
    (pp. 218-225)

    But the sun of election day went down and a breath of relief passed like a south wind over the land. Perhaps it was the universal recognition of the universal danger that prevented an outbreak, but the morning after found both parties charging fraud, claiming victory, and deadlocked like two savage armies in the crisis of actual battle. For a fortnight each went on claiming the victory. In one mountain county the autocrat’s local triumvirate was surrounded by five hundred men, while it was making its count; in another there were three thousand determined onlookers; and still another mountain triumvirate...

  27. XXIV
    (pp. 226-231)

    The red dawn of the twentieth century was stealing over the frost-white fields, and in the alien house of his fathers John Burnham was watching it through his bedroom window. There had been little sleep for him that New Year’s night, and even now, when he went back to bed, sleep would not come.

    The first contest in the life of the State was going on at the little capital. That capital was now an armed camp. The law-makers there themselves were armed, divided, and men of each party were marked by men df the other for the first shot...

  28. XXV
    (pp. 232-244)

    The little capital sits at the feet of hills on the edge of the Blue-grass, for the Kentucky River that sweeps past it has brought down those hills from the majestic highlands of the Cumberland. The great railroad of the State had to bore through rock to reach the place and clangs impudently through it along the main street. For many years other sections of the State fought to wrest this fountain-head of law and government from its moorings and transplant it to the heart of the Blue-grass, or to the big town on the Ohio, because, as one claimant...

  29. XXVI
    (pp. 245-248)

    One officer pushed Jason up the steps of the car with one hand clutched in the collar of the boy’s coat. Steve Hawn followed, handcuffed, and as the second officer put his foot on the first step, Steve flashed around and brought both of his huge manacled fists down on the man’s head, knocking him senseless to the ground.

    “Git, Jason!” he yelled, but the boy had already got. Feeling the clutch on his coat collar loosen suddenly, he had torn away and, without looking back even to see what the crashing blow was that he heard, leaped from the...

  30. XXVII
    (pp. 249-256)

    Back at the little capital, the Pennyroyal governor sat pat behind thick walls and the muskets of a thousand men. The militia, too, remained loyal, and the stacking up of ammunition in the adjutant-general’s office went merrily on. The dead autocrat was reverently borne between two solid walls of living people to the little cemetery on the high hill overlooking the river and with tribute of tongue and pen was laid to rest, but beneath him the struggle kept on. Mutual offers of compromise were mutually refused and the dual government went on. The State-house was barred to the legislators....

  31. XXVIII
    (pp. 257-266)

    On through the snowy mountains Jason went, keeping fearlessly now to the open road, and telling the same story to the same question that was always looked, even when not asked, by every soul with whom he passed a word: he had gone to the capital when the mountain people went down, he had been left behind, and, having no money, was obliged to make his way back home on foot. Always he was plied with questions, but news of the death of the autocrat had not yet penetrated that far. Always he was gladly given food and lodging, and...

  32. [Illustration]
    (pp. None)
  33. XXIX
    (pp. 267-271)

    St. hilda herself took Jason back to the Bluegrass, took him to the gray frowning prison at the capital, and with streaming eyes watched the iron gates close between them. Then she went home, sent for John Biirnham, and within an hour both started working for the boy’s freedom, for Jason must keep on with his studies, and, with Steve Hawn in jail, must help his mother. Through Gray’s influence Colonel Pendleton, and through Marjorie’s, Mrs. Pendleton as well, offered to go sponsors for the boy’s appearance at his trial. The man from the Pennyroyal who sat in the governor’s...

  34. XXX
    (pp. 272-275)

    The tobacco was dry now, for the autumn was at hand. It must come to case yet, then it must be stripped, the grades picked out, and left then in bulk for sale. With all this Jason had nothing to do. He had done good work on his books during the spring and autumn, such good work that, with the old president’s gladly given permission, he was allowed a special examination which admitted him with but one or two “conditions” into his own sophomore class. Then was there the extraordinary spectacle of a college boy—quiet, serious, toiling—making the...

  35. XXXI
    (pp. 276-280)

    The pale, dark young secretary of state had fled from the capital in a soldier’s uniform and had been captured with a pardon in his pocket from the Pennyroyal governor, which the authorities refused to honor. The mountain ex-secretary of state had fled across the Ohio, to live there an exile. The governor from the Pennyroyal had carried his case to the supreme court of the land, had lost, and he, too, amid the condemnation of friends and foes, had crossed the same yellow river to the protection of the same Northern State. With his flight the troubles at the...

  36. XXXII
    (pp. 281-287)

    In June, Gray Pendleton closed his college career as he had gone through it—like a meteor—and Jason went for the summer to the mountains, while Mavis stayed with his mother, for again Steve Hawn had been tried and convicted and returned to jail to await a new trial. In the mountains Jason got employment at some mines below the county-seat, and there he watched the incoming of the real “furriners,” Italians, “Hunks,” and Slavs, and the uprising of a mining town. He worked, too, in every capacity that was open to him, and he kept his keen eyes...

  37. XXXIII
    (pp. 288-292)

    Down in the Blue-grass a handsome saddle-horse was hitched at the stile in front of Colonel Pendleton’s house and the front door was open to the pale gold of the early sun. Upstairs Gray was packing for his last year away from home, after which he too would go to Morton Sanders’ mines, on the land Jason’s mother once had owned. Below him his father sat at his desk with two columns of figures before him, of assets and liabilities, and his face was gray and his form seemed to have shrunk when he rose from his chair; but he...

  38. XXXIV
    (pp. 293-297)

    At sunset Gray Pendleton pushed his tired horse across the Cumberland River and up into the county-seat of the Hawns and Honeycutts. From the head of the main street two battered signs caught his eye—Hawn Hotel and Honeycutt Inn—the one on the right-hand side close at hand, and the other far down on the left, and each on the corner of the street. Both had double balconies, both were ramshackle and unpainted, and near each was a general store, run now by a subleader of each faction—Hiram Honeycutt and Shade Hawn—for old Jason and old Aaron,...

  39. XXXV
    (pp. 298-306)

    Once more, on his way for his last year at college, Jason Hawn had stepped into the chill morning air at the railway junction, on the edge of the Blue-grass. Again a faint light was showing in the east, and cocks were crowing from a low sea of mist that lay motionless over the land, but this time the darky porter reached without hesitation for his bag and led him to the porch of the hotel, where he sat waiting for breakfast. Once more at sunrise he sped through the breaking mist and high over the yellow Kentucky River, but...

  40. XXXVI
    (pp. 307-317)

    It was three days before Steve Hawn returned, ill-humored, reddened by drink, and worn. As ever, Martha Hawn asked no questions and Jason betrayed no curiosity, no suspicion, though he was not surprised to learn that in a neighboring county the night riders had been at their lawless work, and he had no doubt that Steve was among them. Jason would be able to help but little that autumn in the tobacco field, for it was his last year in college and he meant to work hard at his books, but he knew that the dispute between his step-father and...

  41. XXXVII
    (pp. 318-325)

    The news reached Colonel Pendleton late one afternoon while he was sitting on his porch—pipe in mouth and with a forbidden mint julep within easy reach. He had felt the reticence of Gray’s letters, he knew that the boy was keeping back some important secret from him as long as he could, and now, in answer to his own kind, frank letter Gray had, without excuse or apology, told the truth, and what he had not told the colonel fathomed with ease. He had hardly made up his mind to go at once to Gray, or send for him,...

  42. XXXVIII
    (pp. 326-329)

    Jason hawn rode rapidly to one of Morton Sanders’ great stables, put his horse away himself, and, avoiding the chance of meeting John Burnham, slipped down the slope to the creek, crossed on a water gap, and struck across the sunset fields for home. He had felt no anger at Marjorie’s mysterious outbreak—only bewilderment; and only bewilderment he felt now.

    But as he strode along with his eyes on the ground, things began to clear a little. The fact was that, as he had become more enthralled by the girl’s witcheries, the more helpless and stupid he had become....

  43. XXXIX
    (pp. 330-338)

    It was court day at the county-seat. A Honeycutt had shot down a Hawn in the open street, had escaped, and a Hawn posse was after him. The incident was really a far effect of the recent news that Jason Hawn was soon coming back home—and coming back to live. Straightway the professional sneaks and scandal-mongers of both factions got busy to such purpose that the Honeycutts were ready to believe that the sole purpose of Jason’s return was to revive the feud and incidentally square a personal account with little Aaron. Old Jason Hawn had started home that...

  44. XL
    (pp. 339-341)

    Gray pendleton was coming home. Like Jason, he, too, waited at the little junction for dawn, and swept along the red edge of it, over the yellow Kentucky River and through the bluegrass fields. Drawn up at the station was his father’s carriage and in it sat Marjorie, with a radiant smile of welcome which gave way to sudden tears when they clasped hands—tears that she did not try to conceal. Uncle Robert was in bed, she said, and Gray did not perceive any significance in the tone with which she added, that her mother hardly ever left him....

  45. XLI
    (pp. 342-353)

    Jason hawn’s last examination was over, and he stepped into the first June sunlight and drew it into his lungs with deep relief. Looking upward from the pavement below, the old president saw his confident face.

    “It seems you are not at all uneasy,” he said, and his keen old eyes smiled humorously.

    Jason reddened a little.

    “No, sir—I’m not.”

    “Nor am I,” said the old gentleman, “nor will you forget that this little end is only the big beginning.”

    “Thank you, sir.”

    “You are going back home? You will be needed there.”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Good!”

    It was the...

  46. XLII
    (pp. 354-361)

    Gray pendleton, hearing from a houseservant of the death of Steve Hawn, hurried over to offer his help and sympathy, and Martha Hawn, too quick for Jason’s protest, let loose the fact that the responsibility for that death lay between the two. To her simple faith it was Jason’s aim that the intervening hand of God had directed, but she did not know what the law of this land might do to her boy, and perhaps her motive was to shield him if possible. While she spoke, one of her hands was hanging loosely at her side and the other...

  47. XLIII
    (pp. 362-367)

    Commencement day was over. Jason Hawn had made his last speech in college, and his theme was “Kentucky.” In all seriousness and innocence he had lashed the commonwealth for lawlessness from mountain-top to river-brim, and his own hills he had flayed mercilessly. In all seriousness and innocence, when he was packing his bag three hours later in “Heaven,” he placed his big pistol on top of his clothes so that when the lid was raised, the butt of it would be within an inch of his right hand. On his way home he might meet little Aaron on the train,...

  48. XLIV
    (pp. 368-372)

    Jason did not meet young Aaron on the train, though as he neared the county-seat he kept a close watch, whenever the train stopped at a station, on both doors of his car, with his bag on the seat in front of him unbuckled and unlocked. At the last station was one Honeycutt lounging about, but plainly evasive of him. There was a little group of Hawns about the Hawn store and hotel, and more Honeycutts and Hawns on the other side of the street farther down, but little Aaron did not appear. It seemed, as he learned a few...

  49. XLV
    (pp. 373-381)

    Next day Jason carried over to Mavis and his mother the news of the death of Colonel Pendleton, and while Mavis was shocked she asked no question about Gray. The next day a letter arrived from Gray saying he would not come back to the hills—and again Mavis was silent. A week later Jason was made assistant superintendent in Gray’s place by the president of Morton Sanders’ coal company, and this Jason knew was Gray’s doing. He had refused to accept the stock Gray had offered him, and Gray was thus doing his best for him in another way....

  50. XLVI
    (pp. 382-385)

    Winter came and passed swiftly. Throughout it Jason was on the night shift, and day for him was turned into night. Throughout it Mavis taught her school, and she reached home just about the time Jason was going to work, for school hours are long in the hills. Meanwhile, the railroad crept through the county-seat up the river, and the branch line up the Hawn creek to the mines was ready for it. And just before the junction was made, there was an event up that creek in which Mavis shared proudly, for the work in great part was Jason’s...

  51. XLVII
    (pp. 386-392)

    Sitting on the porch next morning, Mavis and Martha Hawn saw Jason come striding down the spur.

    “I’m taking a holiday to-day,” he said, and there was a light in his eyes and a quizzical smile on his face that puzzled Mavis, but the mother was quick to understand. It was Saturday, a holiday, too, for Mavis, and a long one, for her school had just closed that her children might work in the fields. Without a word, but still smiling to himself, Jason went out on the back pdrch, got a hoe, and disappeared behind the garden fence. He...

  52. [Illustration]
    (pp. None)
  53. XLVIII
    (pp. 393-398)

    Gently that following midsummer the old president’s crutch thumped the sidewalk leading to the college. Between the pillars of the gateway he paused, lifted his undimmed keen blue eyes, and more gently still the crutch thumped on the gravelled road as he passed slowly on under the trees. When he faced the first deserted building, he stopped quite still. The campus was deserted and the buildings were as silent as tombs. That loneliness he had known many, many years; but there was a poignant sorrow in it now that was never there before, for only that morning he had turned...