Almost as far as her eyes could reach
along Providence Road and across the pastures to Providence Nob,
beyond Tilting Rock, the land was Alloway land and had been theirs for
what seemed always. She could remember what each good-by to it all had
been when she had gone out over the Ridge in her merry girlhood and
how overflowing with joy each return. Then had come the time when it
had become still dearer as a refuge into which she could bring her
torn heart for its healing.
And such a healing the Valley had given her! It had poured the
fragrance of its blooming springs and summers over her head, she had
drunk the wine of forgetfulness in the cup of long Octobers and the
sting of its wind and rain and snow on her cheeks had brought back the
grief-faded roses. The arms of the hearty Harpeth women had been
outheld to her, and in turn she had had their babies and troubles laid
on her own breast for her and their comforting. She had been mothered
and sistered and brothered by these farmer folk with a very
prodigality of friendship, and to-day she realized more than ever
with positive exultation that she was brawn of their brawn and built
of their building.
And then to her, a woman of the fields, had come down Providence Road
over the Ridge from the great world outside--the _miracle_. She
slipped her hand into her pocket for just one rapturous crush of the
treasure-letter when suddenly it was borne in upon her that it might
be that even that must come to an end for her.
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