with huger flowers and leaves; and, sometimes, a giant magnolia with a thick creamy flower that the boy could not have spanned with both hands and big, thin oval leaves, a man’s stride from tip to stem.  Soon, he was below the sunlight and in the cool shadows where the water ran noisily and the air hummed with the wings of bees.  On the last spur, he came upon a cow browsing on sassafras-bushes right in the path and the last shadow of his loneliness straightway left him.  She was old, mild, and unfearing, and she started down the road in front of him as though she thought he had come to drive her home, or as though she knew he was homeless and was leading him to shelter.  A little farther on, the river flashed up a welcome to him through the trees and at the edge of the water, her mellow bell led him down stream and he followed.  In the next hollow, he stooped to drink from a branch that ran across the road and, when he rose to start again, his bare feet stopped as though riven suddenly to the ground; for, half way up the next low slope, was another figure as motionless as his—­with a bare head, bare feet, a startled face and wide eyes—­but motionless only until the eyes met his:  then there was a flash of bright hair and scarlet homespun, and the little feet, that had trod down the centuries to meet his, left the earth as though they had wings and Chad saw them, in swift flight, pass silently over the hill.  The next moment, Jack came too near the old brindle and, with a sweep of her horns at him and a toss of tail and heels in the air, she, too, swept over the slope and on, until the sound of her bell passed out of hearing.  Even to-day, in lonely parts of the Cumberland, the sudden coming of a stranger may put women and children to flight—­ something like this had happened before to Chad—­but the sudden desertion and the sudden silence drew him in a flash back to the lonely cabin he had left and the lonely graves under the big poplar and, with a quivering lip, he sat down.  Jack, too, dropped to his haunches and sat hopeless, but not for long.  The chill of night was coming on and Jack was getting hungry.  So he rose presently and trotted ahead and squatted again, looking back and waiting.  But still Chad sat irresolute and in a moment, Jack heard something that disturbed him, for he threw his ears toward the top of the hill and, with a growl, trotted back to Chad and sat close to him, looking up the slope.  Chad rose then with his thumb on the lock of his gun and over the hill came a tall figure and a short one, about Chad’s size and a dog, with white feet and white face, that was bigger than Jack:  and behind them, three more figures, one of which was the tallest of the group.  All stopped when they saw Chad, who dropped the butt of his gun at once to the ground.  At once the strange dog, with a low snarl, started down toward the two little strangers with his yellow ears pointed, the hair bristling along his back, and his teeth in sight.  Jack answered the challenge with an eager whimper, but dropped his tail, at Chad’s sharp command—­for Chad did not care to meet the world as an enemy, when he was looking for a friend.  The group stood dumb with astonishment for a moment and the small boy’s mouth was wide-open with surprise, but the strange dog came on with his tail rigid, and lifting his feet high.