The soft wind was very good to those dangling feet, and she itched
to have them on the green grass or in the cool waters through
which the old horse splashed. Yes, she was going home again, the
same June as far as mountain eyes could see, though she had grown
perceptibly, and her little face had blossomed from her heart
almost into a woman's, but she knew that while her clothes were
the same, they covered quite another girl. Time wings slowly for
the young, and when the sensations are many and the experiences
are new, slowly even for all--and thus there was a double reason
why it seemed an age to June since her eyes had last rested on the
big Pine.
Here was the place where Hale had put his big black horse into a
dead run, and as vivid a thrill of it came back to her now as had
been the thrill of the race. Then they began to climb laboriously
up the rocky creek--the water singing a joyous welcome to her
along the path, ferns and flowers nodding to her from dead leaves
and rich mould and peeping at her from crevices between the rocks
on the creek-banks as high up as the level of her eyes--up under
bending branches full-leafed, with the warm sunshine darting down
through them upon her as she passed, and making a playfellow of
her sunny hair.
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