haze of the horizon.  Never had the horizon looked so far away.  His foot began to hurt, and on the top of a hill he had to stop and sit down for a while in the road, the pain was so keen.  The sun was setting now in a glory of gold, rose, pink, and crimson over him, the still clouds caught the divine light which swept swiftly through the heavens until the little pink clouds over the east, too, turned golden pink and the whole heavens were suffused with green and gold.  In the west, cloud was piled on cloud like vast cathedrals that must have been built for worship on the way straight to the very throne of God.  And Chad sat thrilled, as he had been at the sunrise on the mountains the morning after he ran away.  There was no storm, but the same loneliness came to him now and he wondered what he should do.  He could not get much farther that night—­his foot hurt too badly.  He looked up—­the clouds had turned to ashes and the air was growing chill—­and he got to his feet and started on.  At the bottom of the hill and down a little creek he saw a light and he turned toward it.  The house was small, and he could hear the crying of a child inside and could see a tall man cutting wood, so he stopped at the bars and shouted

“Hello!”

The man stopped his axe in mid-air and turned.  A woman, with a baby in her arms, appeared in the light of the door with children crowding about her.

“Hello!” answered the man.

“I want to git to stay all night.”  The man hesitated.

“We don’t keep people all night.”

“Not keep people all night,” thought Chad with wonder.

“Oh, I reckon you will,” he said.  Was there anybody in the world who wouldn’t take in a stranger for the night?  From the doorway the woman saw that it was a boy who was asking shelter and the trust in his voice appealed vaguely to her.

“Come in!” she called, in a patient, whining tone.  “You can stay, I reckon.”

But Chad changed his mind suddenly.  If they were in doubt about wanting him—­he was in no doubt as to what he would do.

“No, I reckon I’d better git on,” he said sturdily, and he turned and limped back up the hill to the road—­still wondering, and he remembered that, in the mountains, when people wanted to stay all night, they usually stopped before sundown.  Travelling after dark was suspicious in the mountains, and perhaps it was in this land, too.  So, with this thought, he had half a mind to go back and explain, but he pushed on.  Half a mile farther, his foot was so bad that he stopped with a cry of pain in the road and, seeing a barn close by, he climbed the fence and into the loft and burrowed himself under the hay.  From under the shed he could see the stars rising.  It was very still and very lonely and he was hungry—­hungrier and lonelier than he had ever been in his life, and a sob of helplessness rose to his lips—­if he only had Jack—­but he held it back.

“I got to ack like a man now.”  And, saying this over and over to himself, he went to sleep.