Far off in the meadows the
cattle rose from their warm dry places, stretched themselves and
awoke the echoes of the wide rolling land with peaceful lowing. A
brood mare in a grazing lot sent forth her quick nostril call to
the foal capering too wildly about her, and nozzled it with
rebuking affection. On the rosy hillsides white lambs were leaping
and bleating, or running down out of sight under the white sea-fog
of the valleys. A milk cart rattled along the turnpike toward the
town.
It had become broad day.
He started up and crossed the hall to the bedroom opposite, and
stood looking down at his younger brother. How quiet Dent's sleep
was; how clear the current of his life had run and would run
always! No tragedy would ever separate him and the woman he loved.
When he went downstairs the perfect orderliness of his mother's
housekeeping had been before him. Doors and windows had been
opened to the morning freshness, sweeping and dusting had been
done, not a servant was in sight. His setters lay waiting on the
porch and as he stepped out they hurried up with glistening eyes
and soft barkings and followed him as he passed around to the barn.
Work was in progress there: the play of currycombs, the whirl of
the cutting-box, the noise of the mangers, the bellowing of calves,
the rich streamy sounds of the milking. He called his men to him
one after another, laying out the work of the day.
When he returned to the house he saw his mother walking on the
front pavement; she held flowers freshly plucked for the breakfast
table: a woman of large mould, grave, proud, noble; an ideal of her
place and time.
Pages:
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83