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. And in one great
surge, the repressed stream of passion in the strong man broke, and
Dannie swayed against his horse. His tongue stuck to the roof of
his mouth, and he caught at the harness to steady himself, while he
strove to grow accustomed to the fact that Hell had opened in a new
form for him.
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