The Green Forest tribune., 1915-01-29
CHAPTER VII-Continued.


 Ara 'e di HAP EH Vii-Continueo. ties
 ada LescOtt stayed on week after that a Shmply in difference to Samson's insist mce. To leave at once might savor of light under fire, but when the week twas out the painter turned his horses vdo head toward town, and his train swept ro him back to the Bluegrass and the ! 1ast.
 ~. A quiet of unbroken and deadly routine settled down on Misery The conduct of the Souths in keeping hands oh and acknowledging the justice of Tamarack Spicer's jail sentence, had been their answer to the declaration "lof the Hollmans in letting Samson ride into and out of Hixon. The truce was 'ne established. When short time later, '0n Tamarack left the country to become a railroad brakeman, Jesse Purvy passed the word that his men must, eWuntil further orders, desist from vio- ccaence. The word had crept about that f Samson, too, was going away, and, if r this were true, Jesse felt that his fu- ide ture would be more secure than his ned past. Purvy believed Samson guilty, ple despite the exoneration of the hounds. 1ysS Lescott had sent box of books, and sS Samson had taken a team over to Q Hixon, and brought them back
 He devoured them all from title ro page to finis line, and many of them he went back to, and digested again. t. He wrestled long and gently with M his uncle, struggling to win the old n mans consent to his departure. But Spicer South's brain was no longer plastic. What had been good enough .. for the past was good enough for the =, future. Nevertheless, he arranged af fairs so that his nephew should be able to meet financal needs, and to go where he chose in fashion befitting u g South.
 " November came in bleakly, with raw and devastating breath of fatality. Y The smile died from horizon to hori- z zon, and for days cold rains beat and lT lashed the forests. And, toward the y end of the month, came the day which Samson had set for his departure.
 At the threshold, with the saddle ' bags over his left forearm and the rife In his hand, he paused. His uncle stood 1t his elbow and the boy put out his hand.
 "Good-by, Unc' Spicer," was all he said. The old man, who had been his second father, shook hands. His face, too, was expressionless, but he felt that he was saying farewell to @ sol dier of genius who was abandoning the field. And he loved the boy with all the centered power of an isolated heart.
 A half-mile along the road, Samson halted and dismounted. There, in a small cove, surrounded by tangle of briers and blackberry bushes, stood small and dilapidated meeting house" and churchyard, which he must visit. He made his way through the rough undergrowth to the unkempt half-acre, and halted before the leaning head stones which marked two graves. With a sudden emotion, he swept the back of his hand across his eyes. He did not remove his hat, but he stood in the drizzle of cold rain for a moment of silence, and then he said:
 'Pap, I hain't forgot. I don't want yeter think thet I've fergot."
 Before he arrived at the Widow Mil lers, the rain had stopped and the clouds had broken.
 Sally opened the door, and smiled. She had spent the day nerving herself for this farewell and at least until the moment of leave-taking she would be safe from tears. The Widow Mill Ter and her son soon left them alone, and the boy and girl sat before the blazing logs.
 For time, an awkward silence fell between them. At last, the boy rose, and went over to the corner where he had placed his gun. He took it up and laid it on the hearth between them.
 Sally" he said, q wants ter tell ye some things thet I hain't never said ter nobody else. In the fust place, 1 wants ye ter keep this hyar gun fer me"
 The girls eyes widened with sur prise.
 "Hain't ye a-goin' ter take hit with ye, Samson?"
 ts'He shook his head 'I hain't a-goin' ter need hit down 5 below Nobody don't use 'em down