The Pulaskian., 1921-09-08

boy is a pow'ful hard thing to do. I'm afeard ye don't quite understand"
 Tt was terrible thing, 1 know" said Dale. "But it was the fortunes of war. The Littlefords have endured the fortunes of war in exactly the same way. Come with me; let's go. need your help; can do very little without your help. Come. John More land P
 The hillman replied slowly: "Weli, Pn go with ye over thar. But Ben hell haf to make the fust break al a-bein friends, cause I'm purity shore I never will. AS soon as git my hat. Bpl."
 He went to the front porch and took from a chairpost his broad trimmed headgear Then the two set out.
 They crossed an ox-wagon road, sweet-scented meadow, the river by means of the blown-down sycamore, another sweet-scented meadow and another ox-wagon road, and entered the cabin yard of the Littleford chief. Here, too, many old-fashioned flowers were in bloom a cane fishingpole, slender and white, leaned against the porch; it made Dale think of Babe.
 You wait out here," whispered Dale, with hand on his companions arm. "Ill go in and see if can per- sua6e Littleford to make the advance. I'm pretty sure I can."
 He started forward when hound rose from the stone step and growled warningly At that Dale halted and sang out:
 Hello, Benr'
 The front door swung open, ereak ing on wooden hinges, and Babes fa- ther, bareheaded and with lamp in his hand, appeared in the doorway. He knew the voice that had summoned him.
 Come right in, Mir Dale,p he in- yited with the utmost cordiaiity. Come right inl"
 He scolded the dog away, and Dale entered the primitive home. He was shown into the best room. where he dropped easily into roomy old rock CT that was lined with an nntanned sheepskin. Ben Littleford put the lamp on crude table, drew up an other chair, and sat down facing his visitor.
 q hope ye ain't jest happened over fo' a minute or two on business" he drawled T hope ye've come to spend the night wi ne, anyway"
 I'm here in the interests of peace, Dale began, looking at the hillman squarely. T want you Littlefords to be on good terms with your neigh bors, the Morelands. John is out there at your gate now; he is waiting for you to ask him in and say to him: Let's begin anew; let's be friends, your people and my people, you and me- You want that, don't you, Ben? Babe did, I'm sure"
 Littleford drowned, laced his big fin gers together and twirled his big thumbs Now that he was once more at home, with assurance that his daughter would entirely recover, he was no longer weak; he had all his old courage and all his old, stubborn hill pride back.
 "I'll ax John in," he finally de- cided, "but he'll haf to make the fust break at a-bein' friends. Me axin' him into my house Is a purty durned good start toward friendship, ain't it?"
 He arose, took up the lamp, walked to the front door and opened it, and called into the night:
 Wont ye come in, John?"
 T reckon will, Ben," was the lazy answer. "Fo' a minute, anyhow. But l reckon l cain't stay long"
 Moreland followed Littleford into the best room. Littleford put the lamp beside the worn leather-bound Bible on the table, and they sat down. They looked steadily at each other and Dale saw plainly that both were i'll at ease. Surely, thought Moreland, he had done a great deal when he had come into his old enemy's house. Surely thought Littleford, he had done great deal when he had asked John Moreland into his home.