"
I smiled slowly. "You hardly understand her," I said. "I doubt if my
influence will suffice for that. But I shall meet you again." I was
turning away.
"Your mother, I believe, is not here--she went over to Wallingford. I
think it is the day when she goes to the little church--"
"Yes, I know. If you will excuse me I shall ride over to see if I can
find her." He bowed. Presently I was hurrying down the road again. It
seemed to me that I could never tolerate the sight of a stranger as
master at Cowles' Farms.
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE FURROW
I Found her at the churchyard of the old meetinghouse. She was just
turning toward the gate in the low sandstone wall which surrounded the
burying ground and separated it from the space immediately about the
little stone church. It was a beautiful spot, here where the sun came
through the great oaks that had never known an ax, resting upon blue
grass that had never known a plow--a spot virgin as it was before old
Lord Fairfax ever claimed it hi his loose ownership. Everything about it
spoke of quiet and gentleness.
I knew what it was that she looked upon as she turned back toward that
spot--it was one more low mound, simple, unpretentious, added to the
many which had been placed there this last century and a half; one more
little gray sandstone head-mark, cut simply with the name and dates of
him who rested there, last in a long roll of our others.
Pages:
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322