"You're a liar!" she growled. "And I'll prove it--you move out o' your tracks an' I'll cut your throat. My boy's got a scar on his neck--I know right whar to look for it. Don't you move now till I see--I know you're a liar----"

She turned and with the quick trembling fingers of her right hand tore the shirt back from the neck and saw the scar. She still held the bag in her left hand. The muscles slowly relaxed and the bag fell endwise to the floor, the gold crashing and rolling over the boards. She stared in stupor and threw both hands above her streaming gray hair.

"Lord God Almighty!" she shrieked. "Why didn't I think that he wuz somebody else's boy if he weren't mine!"

The thin body trembled and crumpled beside the couch.

The girl lifted her head in a look of awe as if in prayer.

"And God has set me free! free! free!"

CHAPTER XXIII. THE DOCTOR

Mary stood overwhelmed by the tragedy she had witnessed. For the time her brain refused to record sensations. She had seen too much, felt too much in the past eight hours. Soul and body were numb.

The first impressions of returning consciousness were fixed on Nance.

She had risen suddenly from the floor and smoothed the hair back from Jim's forehead with tender touch as if afraid to wake him. She drew the quilt from the kitchen floor, spread it over the body, and lifted her eyes to Mary's. It was only too plain.

Reason had gone.

She tipped close and put her fingers on her lips.

"Sh! We mustn't wake him. He's tired. Let him sleep. It's my boy. He's come home. We'll fix him a fine Christmas dinner. I've got a turkey.

I'll bake a cake----" she paused and laughed softly. "I've got eggs too, fresh laid yesterday. We'll make egg-nog all day and all night. I ain't had no Christmas since that devil stole him. We'll have one this time, won't we?"

The girl's wits were again alert. She must run for help. A minute to humor the old woman's delusion and she might return before any harm came to her. Jim had not moved a muscle. It was plain that he was beyond help.

"Yes," Mary answered cheerfully. "You fix the cake--and I'll get the wood to make a fire."

Nance laughed again.

"We'll have the dinner all ready for him when he wakes, won't we?"

"Yes. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Nance hurried into the kitchen humming an old song in a faltering voice that sent the cold chills down the girl's spine.

Mary slipped quietly through the door and ran with swift, sure foot down the narrow road along which the machine had picked its way the afternoon before. The cabin they had passed last could not be more than a mile.

She made no effort to find the logs for pedestrians when the road crossed the brook. She plunged straight through the babbling waters with her shoes, regardless of skirts.

Panting for breath, she saw the smoke curling from the cabin chimney a quarter of a mile away.

"Thank God!" she cried. "They're awake!"

She was so glad to have reached her goal, her strength suddenly gave way and she dropped to a boulder by the wayside to rest. In two minutes she was up and running with all her might.

She rushed to the door and knocked.

A mountaineer in shirt-sleeves and stockings answered with a look of mild wonder.

"For God's sake come and help me. I must have a doctor quick. We spent the night at Mrs. Owens'. She's lost her mind completely--a terrible thing has happened--you'll help me?"

"Cose I will, honey," the mountaineer drawled. "Jest ez quick ez I get on my shoes."

"Is there a doctor near?" she asked breathlessly.

He answered without looking up:

"The best one that God ever sent to a sick bed. He don't charge nobody a cent in these parts. He just heals the sick because hit's his callin'.

Come from somewhar up North and built hisself a fine log house up on the side of the mountains. Hit's full of all the medicines in the world, too----"

"Will you ask him to come for me?" Mary broke in.

"I'll jump on my hoss an' have him thar in half a' hour. You can run right back, honey, and look out for the po' ole critter till we get thar."

"Thank you! Thank you!" she answered grate fully.

"Not at all, not at all!" he protested as he swung through the door and hurried to the low-pitched sheds in which his horse and cow were stabled. "Be thar in no time!"

When Mary returned, Nance was still busy in the kitchen. She had built a fire and put the turkey in the oven.

Mary was counting the minutes now until the doctor should come. The old woman's prattle about the return of her lost boy, so big and strong and handsome, had become unendurable. She felt that she should scream and collapse unless help came at once. She looked at her watch. It was just thirty-five minutes from the time she had left the cabin in the valley below.

She sprang to her feet with a smothered cry of joy. The beat of a horse's hoof at full gallop was ringing down the road.

In two minutes the Doctor's firm footstep was heard at the kitchen door.

Nance turned with a look of glad surprise.

"Well, fur the land sake, ef hit ain't Doctor Mulford! Come right in!"

she cried.

The Doctor seized her hand.

"And how is my good friend, Mrs. Owens, this morning?" he asked cheerfully.

Mary was studying him with deep interest. She had asked herself the question a hundred times how much she could tell him--what to say and what to leave unsaid. One glance at his calm, intellectual face was enough. He was a man of striking appearance, six feet tall, forty-five years of age, hair prematurely gray and a slight stoop to his broad shoulders. His brown eyes seemed to enfold the old woman in their sympathy.

Nance was chattering her answer to his greeting.

"Oh, I'm feelin' fine, Doctor--" she dropped her voice confidentially--"and you're just in time for a good dinner. My boy that was lost has come home. He's a great big fellow, wears fine clothes and come up the mountain all the way in a devil wagon." She put her hand to her mouth. "Sh! He's asleep! We won't wake him till dinner! He's all tired out."

The Doctor nodded understandingly and turned toward Mary.