Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1916-08-03
shook her head

shook her head. shall have to
go back to the rs" she said. "Rut
I shall know the roses are here. You
must send me picture of them"
Somehow I was less enthusiastic
over the next arch, but her spirits soon
came back. and she sawed the next
batch Of stripping with greater preci-
sion and skill in the use of the saw
and a more reckless show of stocking.
Seer she cried how much I'm i'm
proving! / didn't splinter any of the
ends this timer
Fine" said l, you can tackle the
frewood in the orchard soonr'
"Hoorayw cried the girl. as the
fourth was finished. How we are get
ting on
Il could ne~er have done it alone"
said I. you have really been a great
help
"Oh, l hope sor' she exclaimed. 81
haven't had so much fun in years"
We looked into the vegetable gar
den, and saw that Mike had gone, and
Joe. too. My watch and the length
ening shadows warned me it was APP
preaching six Hot and pleasantly
tired. we packed up the tools on the
barrow. and wheeled them to the shed.
''Now shall we go and hear the her
mit?' I asked.
She nodded, and we went down
through the orchard, past the pool
where the iris buds were already show
ing a spike of greenish white, through
the naples. and into the pines. There
we stood, side by side, in the quiet
hush of coming sunset, and waited for
the fairy horn. A song sparrow was
singing out by the road, and the thin,
sweet fittings of a Peabody came from
the pasture. But the thrush was silent.
please sing, Mr.. Thrush she plead
ed. looking at me after she spoke, with
a wistful little smile of apology for her
foolishness. 81 want so to hear him
again." she said. I'VE don't hear
thrushes in New York, nor smell pine
trees, nor feel this sweet, cool silence.
Oh. the good pines!'
"He will sing tomorrow" said |.
"There is no opera on Thursdays"
Her eyes twinkled once more. per
haps he has that terrible disease, sud
den indfsposition, she laughed.
Come. we must go home to supper.
1t will take me hours to get clean"
Out in the open, she looked at her
hands. "See, I've begun to get calluses,
tOor' she exclaimed, holding out her
palms proudly.
you've got blisters," said I. mo
work for you tomorrow! Let me see."
I touched her hand, as we paused be
meath a poisoning apple tree, with the
fragrance shedding about us. Our eyes
met, too, as I did so. She drew her
hand back gently, as the color came to
her cheeks. We walked on in silence,
as far as the pump. Mike had finished
milking, and had gone home. The
stable was closed. Inside we could hear
the animals stamp. Suddenly l put
my head under the pump spout, and
asked her to work the handle. Laugh
ing, she did so, and as [ raised my
dripping head [ saw her standing with
the low western sun full upon her, her
eyes laughing into mine, her nose and
lips provocative, her plain blouse waist
open at the throat so that | could see
the gurgle of laughter rise.
"Why did you do that?" she asked,
arrested, perhaps, by something in my
gaze.
Because" I answered, there's
ghost lives in this well, and maybe
with your aid I shall pump it out
Don't you like the ghost?" she said.
every much" said I, as we climbed
the slope to Berts.
That evening Mrs. Bert sent her off
to bed and | tOiled cheerfully at my
manuscripts till the unhOly hour Of
eleven.