Surely she would want a man now as young, and
as fresh as herself; and she might want to live in town after a
while, if she grew tired of the country. Could he remember Jimmy's
dreadful death, realize that he was responsible for it, and make
love to his wife? No, she was sacred to Jimmy. Could he live beside
her, and lose her to another man for the second time? No, she
belonged to him. It was almost daybreak when Dannie remembered the
fresh bed, and lay down for a few hours' rest.
But there was no rest for Dannie, and after tossing about until
dawn he began his work. When he carried the milk into the cabin,
and smelled the biscuit, he fulfilled Mary's prophecy, got glad
again, and came to breakfast. Then he went about his work. But as
the day wore on, he repeatedly heard the voice of the woman and the
child, combining in a chorus of laughter. From the little front
porch, the green bird warbled and trilled. Neighbors who had heard
of her return came up the lane to welcome a happy Mary Malone. The
dead dreariness of winter melted before the spring sun, and in
Dannie's veins the warm blood swept up, as the sap flooded the
trees, and in spite of himself he grew gladder and yet gladder.
He now knew how he had missed Mary. How he had loathed that empty,
silent cabin. How remorse and heart hunger had gnawed at his
vitals, and he decided that he would go on just as Mary had said,
and let things drift; and when she was ready to have the talk with
him she had mentioned, he would hear what she had to say.
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