Then they sat down to their breakfast, and whether it was the strangeness of the night and the wildness of the place and the beauty of the morning, or whether it was fun in its way, being outlaws and in hiding, who can say? But as the meal went on they began to laugh and talk as they seldom did even when there was company; and Azalea couldn’t keep from laughing either. There was something hushed and sad about her face, and when she spoke, her voice had a break in it, for her terrible sorrow lay heavily upon her heart. Yet, as she had said to Ma McBirney the night before, she had known for a long time that her mother could not live, and she had thought how, after her mother was gone, she herself must go on, taking the rough treatment the show men had given her, and riding bareback on those poor thin horses, and doing tricks for people who called out horrible things to her. Now she felt safe, and even there in that wild place, more at home perhaps than she ever had felt before in her life.
After a time Jim and his father went away, but not before they had gone in the cave and killed or driven out every creature in it. They made a sort of broom right on the spot before Azalea’s astonished eyes, and brushed the place and cleaned it; and pa pried back a big stone on top and let the sunlight in. And then he asked ma how she was going to put in her time.
“Just sitting still,” said ma.
“I never saw you sit still yet, Mary,” said pa. “I don’t believe you can do it.”
“Yes I can, Thomas. Don’t you worry. I can sit and sit and I’m going to. It’s years since I’ve had a quiet spell and it looks like this was my time to take it.”
“Seeing’s believing,” said pa. And laughing and telling ma not to worry about anything, he and Jim turned down the trail.
“Let’s get nearer the waterfall,” said ma to Azalea. So they went to a place where a great flat rock ran out into the mountain stream, and here they sat with the water tossing and leaping past them and hurling itself over the side of the mountain. Ma lay down and put her hands under her head and looked straight up through the branches of an overhanging beech, into the soft blue sky. And Azalea pillowed her head on her arm and lay there too. A long time passed and neither spoke. It was enough to listen to the voices of the mountain, to watch the sailing of the clouds and the winging of the birds. But after a time ma reached out and touched Azalea gently.
“Little girl,” she said, “little daughter!”
“Ma’am?”
“I’ve been a-thinking and a-thinking, and it seems to me it’s a queer world.”