Hill with its fifteen hundred souls was "a city, builded on a hill that could not be laid."
For Jason was brought up on the Bible. His father believed that it ought to be, outside of his school text books, his only literature. His mother, with her Eastern traditions, thought otherwise. A Methodist circuit rider before the Civil War moved every year, and every year Mrs. Wilkins combed each new community for books. It was wonderful how she and Jason scented them out.
They had been in High Hill about a week when Jason came panting into the house late one afternoon. His father was writing a sermon in the sitting room. Jason tip-toed into the kitchen, where his mother was preparing supper.
"The packet's in, mother, and I carried a man's carpet bag up to the hotel and look—what he gave me!"
His slender boyish brown hands fairly trembled as he held a torn and soiled maga-
