Markham was noted for a sense of propriety. He kept his mills and lands in good condition because he was wise and sane; he housed his employees decently for the same reason, and he insisted upon their cooeperation. He never let his taxes lapse, nor his money lie fallow. He had, hidden in a drawer of his desk, a valuable diamond ring that he took out in secret moments to enjoy. Occasionally the jewels were sent to Boston and put on the wheel because the artistic soul of Levi Markham demanded that through no carelessness of his should their lustre become dimmed. For much the same reasons Sandy Morley was entered upon his career in a manner befitting the hope that was in Markham for him. The day Sandy was sent from Bretherton, Olive Treadwell and her adopted son, Lansing Treadwell, sailed for a year's stay in Europe, and Levi and Matilda Markham grimly agreed to leave things as they were. "There's no use stirring up pudding past a certain point," Matilda said. "If you do it's apt to go heavy." "And it's the part of wisdom to watch a rising batch of bread," Levi returned humorously. "When you can't get pudding--or when the pudding fails--look to bread and make the best of it!" CHAPTER X Cynthia Walden came slowly up the trail leading to the old gray house. Since the day of the flood which bore old Ivy forever from sight, she had confronted so many strange conditions that her eyes had the haunted, frightened expression common to the mountain people. The curse of the hills seemed to have settled upon her. She often said to herself, "poor whites," in order that the significance might be fully understood. Old Ivy had said that the cows were all that stood between them and the fate of others who had, through misfortune, accepted the title despised by the quality. Well, she, Cynthia Walden, was no longer quality; of that there could be no doubt. Had Ivy and the cows been spared she might have hidden her disgrace of parentage, but now she must, in order to get food and wood, seek the help and charity of others, and she could no longer hold up her head! At this thought the pretty, drooping head was lifted defiantly. No! she would not go down just yet, for one last motive remained. While she was at the store an hour before to buy a few necessary articles of food with the pitiful supply of money she had found in an old teapot on the kitchen shelf, a wonderful thing had occurred. Tod Greeley, weighing out some tea, remarked casually: "I reckon, now I think o' it, Miss Cyn, there's a letter come for you. One for you and one for Mr. Morley." "A letter!" Cynthia almost staggered. "A letter!" Never in all her life had Cynthia received a letter, never had her imagination soared to such a height as to conceive of such a thing. Tod finished his careful weighing, then added a reckless handful and, having tied the tea up in a bulky package, wandered to the dirty row of letter boxes.