He leaned against a stall, and shut his eyes. He could see the
bright room, plainer than ever, and that little singing bird
sounded loud as any thunder in his ears. And whether closed or
open, he could see Mary, never in all her life so beautiful,
never so sweet; flesh and blood Mary, in a dainty dress, with the
shining, unafraid eyes of girlhood. It was that thing which
struck Dannie first, and hit him hardest. Mary was a careless
girl again. When before had he seen her with neither trouble,
anxiety or, worse yet, FEAR, in her beautiful eyes?
And she had come to stay. She would not have refurnished her
cabin otherwise. Dannie took hold of the manger with both hands,
because his sinking knees needed bracing.
"Dannie," called Mary's voice in the doorway, "has my spickled
hin showed any signs of setting yet?"
"She's been over twa weeks," answered Dannie. "She's in that
barrel there in the corner."
Mary entered the barn, removed the prop, lowered the board, and
kneeling, stroked the hen, and talked softly to her. She slipped
a hand under the hen, and lifted her to see the eggs. Dannie
staring at Mary noted closer the fresh, cleared skin, the glossy
hair, the delicately colored cheeks, and the plumpness of the
bare arms. One little wisp of curl lay against the curve of her
neck, just where it showed rose-pink, and looked honey sweet.
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