Everett climbed up and seated himself on the
top rail of the fence and again gave himself over to his moods. This
time one of bitterness, almost anger, rose to the surface. The same
old wheel grinding out here in the wilderness that he had left in the
market places of the world. The vision he had caught of the great
cycle being turned by some still greater source above the hills was--a
vision. The wheels ground on with the victims strapped and the cogs
dripping. Loot and the woman--loot and the woman! And he had thought
that out here "_in the hollow of His hand_" he had lost the sound of
that grind. And such a woman--the lovely gracious thing with the
unfaithful, dishonored lover's child in her arms, other women's
tumbling children clinging to her skirts and with hands outstretched
to protect and comfort the old gray heads in her care! A woman with a
sorrow in her heart but with eyes that were deep blue pools in which
there mirrored loves for all her little world! For a long time he sat
and looked out into the darkness, then suddenly he squared his
shoulders, gripped the rail tight in his hands for a half second and
then slipped to the ground. Picking up his switch he turned and strode
off toward Sweetbriar, which by this time was a little handful of
fireflys glowing down in the sweet meadows.
When he got as far as the blacksmith's shop Everett climbed the wall
and approached the house through the garden, for in front of the store
had been piled high a bonfire of empty boxes and dry wood boughs, and
most of the inhabitants of Sweetbriar, small fry and large, were
assembled in jocular groups around its blaze of light.
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