THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS
spot alone, after what you know, it's—it's just like I was a little kid, an' you was a standin' big and strong like between me an' a great blackness that was somethin' awful. I reckon it looks foolish, me a talkin' this way. Maybe it's because I'm gettin' old, but any-how I wanted you to know."
The shepherd raised his head and his face was aglow with a glad triumphant light, while his deep voice was full of meaning as he said gently, "It has been more to me, too, than you think, Mr. Matthews. I ought to tell you—I—I will tell you—" he checked himself and added, "some day." Then he changed the topic quickly.
"Are you sure there is no one who can help you over this hard time? Is there no way?"
The mountaineer shook his head. "I've gone over it all again an' again. Williams at the bank is the only man I know who had the money, an' he's done for now by this robbery. You see I can't go to strangers, Dad; I ain't got nothin' left for security."
"But, could you not sell the sheep for enough to save the homestead?"
"Who could buy? or who would buy, if they could, in this country, without a bit of feed? And then look at 'em, they're so poor an' weak, now, they couldn't stand the drivin' to the shippin' place. They'd die all along the road. They're just skin an' bones, Dad; ain't no butcher would pay freight on 'em, even."
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