THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS
order as only a woman's hand can bring. The table was set, and his supper cooking on the stove.
"Dad," she asked, "Do you think I know enough now to live in the city?"
The old man's heart sank. It had come then. Bravely he concealed his feelings, as he assured her in the strongest terms, that she knew enough, and was good enough to live anywhere.
"Then," said Sammy; "I know enough, even if I am not good enough, to live in the hills."
The brown eyes, deep under their shaggy brows, were aglow with gladness, and there was a note of triumph in the scholar's voice as he said, "Then you do not regret learning the things I have tried to teach you? You are sure you have no sorrow for the things you are losing."
"Regret? Dad. Regret?" The young woman drew herself up and lifted her arms. "Oh, Dad, I see it all, now; all that you have been trying in a thousand ways to teach me. You have led me into a new world, the real world, the world that has always been and must always be, and in that world man is king; king because he is a man. And the treasure of his kingdom is the wealth of his manhood."
"And the woman, Sammy, the woman?"
"'And they twain shall be one flesh.'"
Then the master knew that his teaching had not been in vain. "I can lead you no farther, my child,"
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