The Call of the Cumberlands

Lescott had come to the mountains anticipating a visit of two weeks.

His accident had resolved him to shorten it to the nearest day upon

which he felt capable of making the trip out to the railroad. Yet, June

had ended; July had burned the slopes from emerald to russet-green;

August had brought purple tops to the ironweed, and still he found

himself lingering. And this was true although he recognized a growing

sentiment of disapproval for himself. He knew indubitably that he stood

charged with the offense for which Socrates was invited to drink the

hemlock: "corrupting the morals of the youth, and teaching strange

gods."

Feeling the virtue of his teaching, he was unwilling as Socrates

to abandon the field. In Samson he thought he recognized twin gifts: a

spark of a genius too rare to be allowed to flicker out, and a

potentiality for constructive work among his own people, which needed

for its perfecting only education and experience. Having aroused a

soul's restiveness in the boy, he felt a direct responsibility for it

and him, to which he added a deep personal regard. Though the kinsmen

looked upon him as an undesirable citizen, bringing teachings which

they despised, the hospitality of old Spicer South continued unbroken

and a guarantee of security on Misery.

"Samson," he suggested one day when they were alone, "I want you to

come East. You say that gun is your tool, and that each man must stick

to his own. You are in part right, in part wrong. A mail uses any tool

better for understanding other tools. You have the right to use your

brains and talents to the full."

The boy's face was somber in the intensity of his mental struggle, and

his answer had that sullen ring which was not really sullenness at all,

but self-repression.

"I reckon a feller's biggest right is to stand by his kinfolks. Unc'

Spicer's gittin' old. He's done been good ter me. He needs me here."

"I appreciate that. He will be older later. You can go now, and come

back to him when he needs you more. If what I urged meant disloyalty to

your people, I would cut out my tongue before I argued for it. You must

believe me in that. I want you to be in the fullest sense your people's

leader. I want you to be not only their Samson--but their Moses."

The boy looked up and nodded. The mountaineer is not given to

demonstration. He rarely shakes hands, and he does not indulge in

superlatives of affection. He loved and admired this man from the

outside world, who seemed to him to epitomize wisdom, but his code did

not permit him to say so.