Sandy had recovered from his faint, but he was strangely weak and an inner stillness bound him speechless and immovable. He lay there--thinking, thinking! He knew a woman was beside him watching his every breath; he heard Bob outside and the sternly kind voice talking to him. But nothing mattered. Yes, one thing did matter. The money was in his pocket and Massachusetts was still in the near future! Miss Matilda, by the process known only to her sex, had labelled and classified the boy on the sofa. "He's what these shiftless negroes call quality," she pondered. "Filthy and worn to the bone as he is--he is quality or I miss my guess! Now what on earth has brought him to this pass?" The lids were drawn close over Sandy's eyes; his thin face was pinched and wan, and the tan had faded mysteriously from the smooth skin. A dignity rested on brow and mouth, and the work-stained, folded hands were delicate and full of character. Sandford Morley had come to the parting of the ways and he had resigned himself to the inevitable. His helplessness put forth an appeal that reached through his sordid misery to the emotions of Matilda Markham. She adored boys--they were her one enthusiasm but, like her brother, the more she felt the less she permitted herself to show. "She knew her duty"--none better; "but she did not intend to have her feelings joggled in the broad light of day for curious folks to witness!" So she watched Sandy now with her heart painfully in evidence. "There's a bruise on his left cheek," mused Miss Matilda; "like as not he hit it against something." It was the effect of the last blow Mary Morley was ever to deal him, but of course the watcher in the orderly cottage could not imagine so outrageous a thing as that. "He's got real nice hair if it wasn't so matted. I daresay it would curl if it had half a chance." Justice called for pity and protection, and while waiting to see what was best to do next, Matilda heeded inspiration. "You awake?" she whispered. Sandy gave a weak nod. "Want something to eat? No? A drink of water, maybe? No? Very well, lie still and drop off to sleep again. You'll feel better presently, and can tell us about yourself, then brother will send you home." The room was dim, but Matilda's eyes were keen, and she saw two large tears roll from under the closed lids and down upon the thin cheeks. Because of her understanding of boys, Matilda did not interfere with those mute tokens of weak surrender. Better the traces on the dirty skin than a later misunderstanding, but as the tears took their way a childless woman's pity and tenderness was following them mutely. "You can't sleep? Well now, never mind. Just don't fuss." Then inspiration came again. "Maybe you'd like to see your dog, he's just outside. He won't eat or drink and his nose is everlastingly pointed to the door."