But the day was balmy, the way was beautiful;
contempt slowly succeeded anger, and hope soon triumphed over all. For
yonder was Zora, poised, waiting. And behind her lay the Field of
Dreams.
_Nine_
THE PLANTING
Zora looked down upon Bles, where he stood to his knees in mud. The toil
was beyond exhilaration--it was sickening weariness and panting despair.
The great roots, twined in one unbroken snarl, clung frantically to the
black soil. The vines and bushes fought back with thorn and bramble.
Zora stood wiping the blood from her hands and staring at Bles. She saw
the long gnarled fingers of the tough little trees and they looked like
the fingers of Elspeth down there beneath the earth pulling against the
boy. Slowly Zora forgot her blood and pain. Who would win--the witch, or
Jason?
Bles looked up and saw the bleeding hands. With a bound he was beside
her.
"Zora!" The cry seemed wrung from his heart by contrition. Why had he
not known--not seen before! "Zora, come right out of this! Sit down here
and rest."
She looked at him unwaveringly; there was no flinching of her spirit.
"I sha'n't do it," she said. "You'se working, and I'se going to work."
"But--Zora--you're not used to such work, and I am. You're tired out."
"So is you," was her reply.
He looked himself over ruefully, and dropping his axe, sat down beside
her on a great log.
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