Following the direction of her gaze, he went to the shelf and took down the old spelling-book, and turned the leaves, now limp and worn. So this was Cassandra’s inheritance — part of it — the inward impulse that would urge to toil all day, then walk miles in rain and darkness through a wilderness, and thank the Lord for the privilege — to own this book — not for herself, but for the generations to come. David touched it reverently, glad to know so much of her past, and turned to the old mother for more.

“Have you anything else — like this?”

Her sharp eyes sparkled as she looked narrowly at him. “I have suthin’ ‘at I hain’t nevah told anybody livin’ a word of, not even Doctah Hoyle — only he war some differ’nt from you. But I’m