"Pilgrim?" asked Jason, warming his hands at the fire. "Surely I've written you about Pilgrim. Father bought him soon after you left. He's the wisest horse that ever lived. If you're warm, now, Jason, come to your father." He followed her into the bedroom which opened off the kitchen. His father lay on the feather bed, his eyes closed. O how worn--O how changed! Young Jason was hardened to suffering and death. He had not realized that to the sickness and death of one's own, nothing can harden us. He stood breathing hard while his mother stooped over the bed. "Ethan," she said softly, "our boy is here." Brother Wilkins opened his eyes and smiled faintly. He tried to say something and Jason sprang to take his hand. "Oh, he wants to speak to you and can't. O my poor dear! O Ethan, my dearest." Jason's mother broke down. Jason put his finger on his father's wrist. After a long moment, "Mother, he's gone," he whispered. After the funeral, Jason wandered about the village for a day or so, trying to plan for his mother's future and his own. All the townspeople were kind to him. "Haven't forgot how you loaned me those _Harper's Monthlies_ before you read 'em yourself," said Mr. Inchpin. "Anything I can do for you or your mother, let me know." The two had met in Hardwich's store, which was also the post office and the evening club for the males of High Hill. Jason had dropped in to post a letter. A tall scraggly man joined in. "Your father was the best preacher in Ohio. We was all glad when he got back here." "He had the gift of prayer," said an old man, in the back of the store. There was a silence which Jason struggled in vain to break. Then a young fellow who carried a buggy whip and smoked a cigar said, "How does the doctoring go, Jason?" "Well, thanks," returned Jason, looking at the young fellow, intently. It was Billy Ames, he of the striped pants. Back through Jason's heart, until now strangely softened by the happenings of the past few days, surged the accumulated bitterness of his poverty-stricken youth. He turned abruptly and left the store. His mother was watching for him, anxiously. "Jason, Pilgrim had an accident. He's got a frightful cut on his right fore shoulder. He must have got caught on a nail somehow." "Let's have a look at him," said Jason. The big gray was standing stolidly in his stall. Mrs. Wilkins held the candle while Jason examined him. On the right fore shoulder was a great three-cornered tear from which the skin hung in a bloody fold. "I'll have to sew it up." Jason was all surgeon now. "Do you think he'll stand still for us?" "Stand still," replied Jason's mother, indignantly. "Why, he'll know exactly what you are doing, and why." "All right then. You get me some clean rags and a darning-needle and I'll get the rest of the things I'll need." In a few moments the operation was well in hand.