“I'll do that very thing,” said the old man seriously. “I was joking, Uncle Dan.” “But I ain't.” The matter was out of Hale's head before he got through the great Gap. How the memories thronged of June--June--June! “YOU DIDN'T GIVE HER A CHANCE.” That was what Budd said. Well, had he given her a chance? Why shouldn't he go to her and give her the chance now? He shook his shoulders at the thought and laughed with some bitterness. He hadn't the car-fare for half-way across the continent--and even if he had, he was a promising candidate for matrimony!--and again he shook his shoulders and settled his soul for his purpose. He would get his things together and leave those hills forever. How lonely had been his trip--how lonely was the God-forsaken little town behind him! How lonely the road and hills and the little white clouds in the zenith straight above him--and how unspeakably lonely the green dome of the great Pine that shot into view from the north as he turned a clump of rhododendron with uplifted eyes. Not a breath of air moved. The green expanse about him swept upward like a wave--but unflecked, motionless, except for the big Pine which, that far away, looked like a bit of green spray, spouting on its very crest. “Old man,” he muttered, “you know--you know.” And as to a brother he climbed toward it. “No wonder they call you Lonesome,” he said as he went upward into the bright stillness, and when he dropped into the dark stillness of shadow and forest gloom on the other side he said again: “My God, no wonder they call you Lonesome.” And still the memories of June thronged--at the brook--at the river--and when he saw the smokeless chimney of the old cabin, he all but groaned aloud. But he turned away from it, unable to look again, and went down the river toward Uncle Billy's mill. * * * * * * * Old Hon threw her arms around him and kissed him. “John,” said Uncle Billy, “I've got three hundred dollars in a old yarn sock under one of them hearthstones and its yourn. Ole Hon says so too.” Hale choked. “I want ye to go to June. Dave'll worry her down and git her if you don't go, and if he don't worry her down, he'll come back an' try to kill ye. I've always thought one of ye would have to die fer that gal, an' I want it to be Dave. You two have got to fight it out some day, and you mought as well meet him out thar as here. You didn't give that little gal a fair chance, John, an' I want you to go to June.” “No, I can't take your money, Uncle Billy--God bless you and old Hon--I'm going--I don't know where--and I'm going now.” XXXIII