Sandy's dormant imagination. Through Cynthia he had been shown the beauty of the flowers; been taught the note of the birds and the thrill of life under winter's cold and hard wing. Poverty sharpened the senses of The Hollow people alike in hovel and great house; it drove Miss Ann and Cynthia into close quarters with Ivy and her weird superstitions; it drove Sandy and his kind into dangerous contact with each other, for behind closed doors and in the semi-darkness of the one-windowed cabins evil traits grew apace and the cold and the poor food were fuel for passion and hate. But no little enchantress met lonely Sandy on his homeward way. "I reckon I must--go without!" he muttered with something much like a sob in his voice. Not even then did he dream of procrastinating. He was hungry and weary and when he reached the cabin he paused to eat again before going to the rock with his day's earnings. Mary, Molly, and Martin were absent, but that was no new thing. Sandy meant to hide his money, come back and speak to his father and then, by the dark of the moon, start out either with Martin or alone. Grimly the young, tired face set into stern lines; a paleness dimmed his freckles and a fever brightened his eyes, but the heat in his blood, now at the day's end, acted like a stimulant to his thoughts. No longer did he fear or doubt--he had passed that stage and, like a warrior reinforced and exhilarated, he began to whistle confidently and almost joyously. He meant to give Mary her share of his profits, but he would leave them in the box beside the stone that so long had hid his secret. Over the Branch and up the hill to the woods went Sandy with an uplifted expression on his poor, bruised face and the dignity of his clothing adding a strange touch of age to him. Near the sacred spot he paused and the tune died on his lips. Some one or some thing was stirring just beyond, and, of a sudden, fear and past doubt drove the blood from his heart. His only thought was of Molly! All the years, perhaps, she had deceived and betrayed him. He had, like a coward, failed to count his money; to guard it as he should!