THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS
caught sight of the two under the tree; then he came to them, and seated himself on the grass at Pete's side. He spoke no word of greeting, and the look on his face was not good to see.
Pete's eyes went wide with fear at the manner of his big friend, and he drew back as if to run, but when Young Matt, throwing himself over on the grass, had hidden his face, a half sad, half knowing look came into the lad's delicate features; reaching forth a hand, as slim as a girl's, he stroked the shaggy, red brown head, as he murmured softly, "Poor Matt. Poor Matt. Does it hurt? Is Matt hurt? It'll be better by-and-by."
The great form on the grass stirred impatiently. The shepherd spoke no word. Pete continued, stroking the big head, and talking in low, soothing tones, as one would hush a child, "Pete don't know what's a hurtin' Young Matt, but it'll be alright, some day. It'll sure grow over after awhile. Ain't nothing won't grow over after awhile; 'cause God he says so."
Still the older man was silent. Then the giant burst forth in curses, and the shepherd spoke, "Don't do that, Grant. It's not like you, lad. You cannot help your trouble that way."
Young Matt turned over to face his friend; "I know it, Dad;" he growled defiantly; "but I just got to say somethin'; I ain't meanin' no disrespect to
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