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Fox, John, 1863-1919

"The Trail of the Lonesome Pine"

Now she was going home and she was glad to go.
She had awakened that morning with the keen air of the mountains
in her nostrils--the air she had breathed in when she was born,
and her eyes shone happily when she saw through her window the
loved blue hills along which raced the train. They were only a
little way from the town where she must change, the porter said;
she had overslept and she had no time even to wash her face and
hands, and that worried her a good deal. The porter nearly lost
his equilibrium when she gave him half a dollar--for women are not
profuse in the way of tipping--and instead of putting her bag down
on the station platform, he held it in his hand waiting to do her
further service. At the head of the steps she searched about for
Hale and her lovely face looked vexed and a little hurt when she
did not see him.
"Hotel, Miss?" said the porter.
"Yes, please, Harvey!" she called.
An astonished darky sprang from the line of calling hotel-porters
and took her bag. Then every tooth in his head flashed.
"Lordy, Miss June--I never knowed you at all."
June smiled--it was the tribute she was looking for.


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