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Fox, John, 1863-1919

"The Trail of the Lonesome Pine"

She saw her father
coming down from the cornfield. She saw the two cows come from the
woods into the path that led to the barn, switching their tails
and snatching mouthfuls from the bushes as they swung down the
hill and, when she reached the gate, her step-mother was standing
on the porch with one hand on her hip and the other shading her
eyes from the slanting sun--waiting for her. Already kindness and
consideration were gone.
"Whar you been, June? Hurry up, now. You've had a long restin'-
spell while I've been a-workin' myself to death."
It was the old tone, and the old fierce rebellion rose within
June, but Hale had told her to be patient. She could not check the
flash from her eyes, but she shut her lips tight on the answer
that sprang to them, and without a word she went to the kitchen
for the milking-pails. The cows had forgotten her. They eyed her
with suspicion and were restive. The first one kicked at her when
she put her beautiful head against its soft flank. Her muscles had
been in disuse and her hands were cramped and her forearms ached
before she was through--but she kept doggedly at her task.


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