THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS
on his way; Jim took the violin from its peg above the fireplace, and, tucking it lovingly under his chin, gave himself up to his favorite pastime, while Sammy moved busily about the cabin, putting things right for the night.
When her evening tasks were finished, the girl came and stood before her father. At once the music ceased and the violin was laid carefully aside. Sammy seated herself on her father's knee.
"Law', child, but you're sure growin' up," said Jim, with a mock groan at her weight.
"Yes, Daddy, I reckon I'm about growed; I'll be nineteen come Christmas."
"O shucks!" ejaculated the man. "It wasn't more'n last week that you was washin' doll clothes, down by the spring."
The young woman laughed. "I didn't wash no doll clothes last week," she said. Then her voice changed, and that wide, questioning look, the look that made one think so of her father, came into her eyes. "There's something I want to ask you, Daddy Jim. You—you know—Ollie's goin' away, an'—an'—an' I was thinkin' about it all day yesterday, an', Daddy, why ain't we got no folks?"
Mr. Lane stirred uneasily. Sammy continued, "There's the Matthews's, they've got kin back in Illinois; Mandy Ford's got uncles and aunts over on Lang Creek; Jed Holland's got a grandad and mam,
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