He craved to get far into the very heart of the wildest parts, for with the letters the old conventional and stereotyped ideals seemed to have intruded into his cabin.

He passed the home of Hoke Belew and stopped there to see that all was well with them. The rose vine covering the porch roof was filled with pink blossoms, hundreds of them swinging out over his head. The air was sweet with the odor of honeysuckle. The old locust tree would soon be alive with bees, for it was already budded. He took the baby in his arms and saw that its cheeks were growing round and plump, and that the young mother looked well and happy, and he was glad.

“Take good care of them, Hoke; they are worth it,” he said to the young father, as he passed him coming in from the field.