The
trail was cut in sharply and never drifted. Every successive
snowfall was at once packed down by the tree-fellers,
and whoever drove along, could give his horses the lines.
I did so, too, and the horses ran.
I relaxed. I had done what I could do. Anxiety there was
hardly any now. A drive over more than forty miles, made
at the greatest obtainable speed, blunts your emotional
energies. I thought of home, to be sure, did so all the
time; but it was with expectation now, with nothing else.
Within half an hour I should know...
Then the bush opened up. The last mile led along between
snow-buried meadows, school and house in plain view ahead.
There lay the cottage, as peaceful in the evening sun as
any house can look. Smoke curled up from its chimney and
rose in a nearly perpendicular column. I became aware of
the colder evening air, and with the chill that crept
over me I was again overwhelmed by the pitifully lonesome
looks of the place.
Mostly I shouted when I drew near to tell of my coming.
To-day I silently swung up through the shrubby thicket
in which the cottage and the stable behind it lay embedded
and turned in to the yard.
Pages:
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214