"Do you believe there _is_ going to be a factory, Mr. Morley? Do you believe Smith Crothers would let any one have a factory so near his?" "They-all do say, Miss Cynthia, that that-er company what sends this young man, is powerful rich and upperty. They-all do say that-er company ain't so much as consulted with Smith Crothers." "It must be a mighty brave company!" The slow smile touched the sweet lips. "Mr. Morley, I wonder if you will ever hear from Sandy?" "Sho'! Miss Cynthia, you-all make me right creepy. I woke up this-er morning from a dream 'bout Sandy. It was a right techersome dream, but dreams be techersome. I dreamed that Sandy was daid, and yet I woke up right cheerful. I've reasoned it out this-er-way. Sandy _is_ daid to me, lil' Miss Cynthia, but alive out in a bigger, wider life and sho' a right minded father should be mighty glad of that. I'm willing to give Sandy to a better life." The old face twitched. "It's 'bout all I can do for my son." "Oh! Mr. Morley, you're right noble but I don't believe Sandy's like that. He's just waiting 'till he has a mighty fine something to bring back to us-all, and then we'll see him coming up The Way as brave and smiling as can be." Martin shook his head slowly. "I don' doubt it, lil' Miss Cynthia. It's seven long years now! I've taken a right smart heap of comfort mending up the cabin and painting it and planting vines and flowers about. It has been the happiness I've allowed myself--getting ready for Sandy that ain't never coming! Good morning, just wish me luck 'bout the job. The getting ready means something even if you don't ever get what you're making ready for." And with this Martin Morley went down The Way toward The Forge to seek his luck with the stranger who had arrived a few days before to begin operations on a certain piece of land which had been bought by a man--no one could recall his name--seven years ago! Cynthia stood under the trees by the road after Martin left and fell into a reverie. It was early. By walking a little faster she could reach Trouble Neck in time for the possible pupils, and the lure of the morning held her. Looking up to catch more distinctly the note of a bird, she noticed how white and splendid the dogwood flowers were on the tree under which she stood. "They certainly do look like stars!" she whispered. The day seemed pulsing with thoughts of Sandy Morley! Not for years had he been so in her mind. To be sure the hole in the tree near Stoneledge was quite filled with letters written to an imaginary somebody called, for convenience, Sandy--the "Biggest of Them All." But Cynthia's ideal bore little likeness to the actual Sandy, and her letters had become but the outpourings of a heart that must create its own Paradise or perish. Sandy Morley had faded into an indistinct blur, but the romance he had awakened bore the girl far and away from the common life of The Hollow.