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I. The birth of A woman-child
II. The birth of an ambition
III. A Peak in Darien
IV. Of the use of feet
V. The moccasin flower
VI. Weavers and weft
VII. Above the valley
VIII. Of the use of wings
IX. A bit of metal
X. The Sandals of joy
XI. The new boarder
XII. The contents of A bandanna
XIII. A patient for the hospital
XIV. Wedding Bells
XV. The feet of the children
XVI. Bitter waters
XVII. A victim
XVIII. Light
XIX. A pact
XX. Missing
XXI. The search
XXII. The atlas vertebra
XXIII. A clue
XXIV. The Rescue
XXV. The future
“Yes, I’m a-going to get a chance to work right away,” she smiled up at him. Frontispiece
He loomed above them, white and shaking. “You thieves!” he roared. “Give me my bandanner! Give me Johnnie’s silver mine!”
“Lost—gone! My God, Mother—it’s three days and three nights!”
The car was already leaping down the hill at a tremendous pace.
THE BIRTH OF A WOMAN-CHILD
“Whose cradle’s that?” the sick woman’s thin querulous tones arrested the man at the threshold.
“Onie Dillard’s,” he replied hollowly from the depths of the crib which he carried upside down upon his head, like some curious kind of overgrown helmet.
“Now, why in the name o’ common sense would ye go and borry a broken cradle?” came the wail from the bed. “I ’lowed you’d git Billy Spinner’s, an’ hit’s as good as new.”
Uncle Pros set the small article of furniture down gently.
“Don’t you worry yo’se’f, Laurelly,” he said enthusiastically. Pros Passmore, uncle of the sick woman and mainstay of the forlorn little Consadine household, was always full of enthusiasm. “Just a few nails and a little wrappin’ of twine’ll make it all right,” he informed his niece. “I stopped a-past and borried the nails and the hammer from Jeff Dawes; I mighty nigh pounded my thumb off knockin’ in nails with a rock an’ a sad-iron last week.”
“Looks like nobody ain’t got no sense,” returned Laurella Consadine ungratefully. “Even you, Unc’ Pros—while you borryin’ why cain’t ye borry whole things that don’t need mendin’?”
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