The Fayette falcon. (Somerville, Tenn.) 190?-current, 1918-03-15

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to the window. The encrustlng frost
had vanished from the panes. They
were wet to the touch of her fingers.
She unlocked the fastening, and swung
the window out. A great gust Of damp,
warm wind blew strands Of hair across
her face. She leaned through the case
ment, and drops Of cold water struck
her bare neck. That which she had
heard was the dripping caves. The
chinook wind droned its spring song,
and the bare boughs Of the tree beside
the cabin waved and creaked the time.
At dawn the caves had ceased their
drip, and the dirt roof lay bare to the
cloud-banked sky. From the southwest
the wind still blew strong and warm.
The thick winter garment Of the earth
softened to slush, and vanished with
amazing swiftness. Streams Of water
poured down every depression. Pools
stood between the house and stable.
Spring had leaped ~strong-armed upon
old Winter and vanQuished him at the
first onslaught.
All that day the chinook blew, work
Ing its magic upon the land. When day
broke again with a clearing sky, and
the sun peered between the cloud riffs,
his beams fell upon vast areas of
brown and green, where but ~forty-eight
hours gone there was the cold revelry
Of frost sprltes upon far-fung fields
Of snow. Patches of earth steamed
wherever a hillside lay bare to the sun.
From some mysterious distance a lone
crow winged his way, and, perchlng on
a nearby treetop, cawed raucous greet
ing.
Hazel cleared away the breakfast
things, and stood looking out the kitch-
en- window. Roaring Bill sat on a log,
shirt-sleeved, smoking his pipe. Pres
emily he went v to the stable, led
out his horses, and gave them their lib
erty. For twenty minutes or so he
stood watching their mad capers as
they ran and leaped and pranced back
and forth over the clearing. Then he
walked or into the timber, his rife
over his shoulder.
Hazel washed her dishes and went
outside. She did not know why, but
all at once a terrible feeling Of utter
forIornness seized her. 1t was spring
and also 1t was spring In other lands.
The wilderness suddenly took on the
characteristics of a prison, in which
she was sentenced to solitary confne-
ment. She rebelled against II, rebelled
against her surroundings, against the
manner of her being there, against
everything. She hated the North, she
wished to be gone from 1t, and most
of all she hated Bill Wagstaff for con-
straining her presence there.
All the heaviness of heart, all the re-
sentiment she had felt in the first few
days when she followed him perforce
away from Cariboo Meadows, came
back to her with redoubled force that
afternoon. She went back into the
house, now gloomy without a fire,
slumped forlornly into a chair, and
cried herself into a condition approach
ing hysteria. And she was sitting there,
her head bowed on her hands, when
Bill returned from his hunting. The
sun sent a shaft through the south
window, a shaft which rested on her
dropping head. Roaring Bill walked
slowly up behind her and put his hand
on her shoulder.
"what is 1t, little ~personf" he asked
gently.
She refused to answer.
"Say," he bent a little lower, you
know what the Tentmaker said:
Come I'LL the cup, and In the fire OF
spring
Your winter garment Of repentance fling;
The Bird Of Time has but a little way
To flutter-and the Bird is on the wing"
"Life's too short to waste any OF 1t
in being uselessly miserable. Come on
out and go for a ride on SILK. I'll take
you up a mountainside, and show you
a waterfall that leaps three hundred
feet In the clear. The woods are wax
ing up and putting on their Easter bon
nets. There's beauty everywhere. Come
alongp
But she wrenched herself away
from him.
II want to 60 homeI" she walled. Il
hate you and the North, and every