The sun was setting behind the maple tree. The golden rays gleamed in the white mist that had risen from the river, for it was a cold evening.
In the distance the Belmont mountains were a deep, misty blue, and the clouds above them all white and gold.
Now all the valley was filling with a golden mist. The birds were singing in the trees along the banks of the river. They filled the evening air with joyous songs.
“Only a few days more. Only a few days more.”
Soon she must go back to the brick walls, and the yard with the high fence around it.
When Mr. Alder came to call Clematis for supper, her eyes were red, and her cheeks pale.
“Never mind, dear little girl,” he said. “We’ll keep Deborah shut up. I guess we can spare the chickens. We have plenty more.”
She said nothing, but went silently in for the evening meal. She had forgotten all about the chickens. All through supper the words ran in her head, and the last thing in her mind as she fell asleep was this thought:
“Only a few days more.”