(Reading time: 8 - 16 minutes)
The Mountain Girl
The Mountain Girl

her dreams and become an undercurrent in her life even as she had in his, and did her soul and body ache for him as his for her?

  

Then he suffered remorse for what he had done. How long she had defended herself by that wall of impersonality with which she had surrounded herself! He had beaten down the ramparts and trampled in the garden of her soul. As he stood in the door of his cabin, the place seemed to breathe of her presence. She had made a veritable bower of it for his return. Every sweet thing she had gathered for him, as if, out of her love and her sorrow, she had meant to bring to him an especial blessing.

  

A shallow basin filled with wild forget-me-nots stood on the shelf before his mother's picture. Ferns and vines fell over the stone mantle, and in earthen jars of mountain ware the early rhododendron, with its delicate, pearly pink blossoms, filled the dark corners. Masses of the plumed white ash shook feathery tassels along the walls, making the air sweet with their fragrance. Ah, how clean and fresh everything was! All his disorder was set to rights, and fresh linen was on his bed in his canvas room.

  

Even his table was laid with his small store of dishes, and food placed upon it, still covered in the basket he was now so accustomed to see. Sweet and dainty it all was. He had only to light the fat pine sticks laid beneath the kettle swung above and make his tea, and his meal was ready. Had she divined he would not stop at the Fall Place this time, when in the past it had been his custom to do so? Ah, she knew; for is not the little winged god a wonderful teacher?

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