Moreover, the ugly spot on the great, beautiful breast of
the Mother was such a little one after all and June had no idea
how it must spread. Above the opening for the mines, the creek was
crystal-clear as ever, the great hills were the same, and the sky
and the clouds, and the cabin and the fields of corn. Nothing
could happen to them, but if even they were wiped out by Hale's
hand she would have made no complaint. A wood-thrush flitted from
a ravine as she and Bub went back down the creek--and she stopped
with uplifted face to listen. All her life she had loved its song,
and this was the first time she had heard it in Lonesome Cove
since she had learned its name from Hale. She had never heard it
thereafter without thinking of him, and she thought of him now
while it was breathing out the very spirit of the hills, and she
drew a long sigh for already she was lonely and hungering for him.
The song ceased and a long wavering cry came from the cabin.
"So-o-o-cow! S-o-o-kee! S-o-o-kee!"
The old mother was calling the cows. It was near milking-time, and
with a vague uneasiness she hurried Bub home.
Pages:
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221