June was working in her garden. Hale
thought he would halloo to her, and then he decided to surprise
her, and he went on down, hitched his horse and stole up to the
garden fence. On the way he pulled up a bunch of weeds by the
roots and with them in his arms he noiselessly climbed the fence.
June neither heard nor saw him. Her underlip was clenched tight
between her teeth, the little cross swung violently at her throat
and she was so savagely wielding the light hoe he had given her
that he thought at first she must be killing a snake; but she was
only fighting to death every weed that dared to show its head. Her
feet and her head were bare, her face was moist and flushed and
her hair was a tumbled heap of what was to him the rarest gold
under the sun. The wind was still, the leaves were heavy with the
richness of full growth, bees were busy about June's head and not
another soul was in sight
"Good morning, little girl!" he called cheerily.
The hoe was arrested at the height of a vicious stroke and the
little girl whirled without a cry, but the blood from her pumping
heart crimsoned her face and made her eyes shine with gladness.
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