How lonely had been his trip--how lonely was the God-forsaken
little town behind him! How lonely the road and hills and the
little white clouds in the zenith straight above him--and how
unspeakably lonely the green dome of the great Pine that shot into
view from the north as he turned a clump of rhododendron with
uplifted eyes. Not a breath of air moved. The green expanse about
him swept upward like a wave--but unflecked, motionless, except
for the big Pine which, that far away, looked like a bit of green
spray, spouting on its very crest.
"Old man," he muttered, "you know--you know." And as to a brother
he climbed toward it.
"No wonder they call you Lonesome," he said as he went upward into
the bright stillness, and when he dropped into the dark stillness
of shadow and forest gloom on the other side he said again:
"My God, no wonder they call you Lonesome."
And still the memories of June thronged--at the brook--at the
river--and when he saw the smokeless chimney of the old cabin, he
all but groaned aloud. But he turned away from it, unable to look
again, and went down the river toward Uncle Billy's mill.
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