“Florence Mehitabel Genevieve Jane,
She came home in the wind an’ the rain,
She came home in the rain an’ the snow;
‘Ain’t a-goin’ to leave my home any mo’!’”
“Jeff,” said the mystified Ballinger, spurring up beside him, “what has the gray-haired Register done? Has murder stained his hands with gore?”
Jeff raised his bridle hand.
“Gee! Leo, I don’t know! I just taken a chance!”
CHAPTER I
THE PITCHER THAT WENT TO THE
WELL
“When I bend my head low and listen at the ground,
I can hear vague voices that I used to know,
Stirring in dim places, faint and restless sound;
I remember how it was when the grass began to grow.”
—Song of The Wandering Dust,
Anna Hempstead Branch.