The air was full of crisp freshness, which brought a wholesome glow to the girl's plump cheeks as she walked briskly along down the dirt lane. Fallow fields stretched out on either hand, unrolling rich, varying shades of yellow and brown, reaching away in undulating waves to where the frost-painted hills stood in brave array, like gay canvases belonging to some gorgeous theatrical scene.
Far to the southward they extended—a long, irregular chain, whose rugged heights were gradually softened and subdued by distance and the October mists until they finally seemed but jagged banks of amethystine clouds piled high against the horizon.
Presently the girl reached a small wood that lay between her and her destination, and after a moment's pause, and a glance of maidenly precaution around, she agilely climbed the rail fence that enclosed its boundary, and started in a diagonal line across the wooded space to shorten her walk.
Within the wood the pensive presence of Autumn dwelt. The low, gentle rustling of falling leaves in a plaintive murmuring, as if regretful at approaching dissolution, greeted the sensitive ear at every turn. The drowsy air seemed haunted by vague faint-spirited voices whispering tenderly of the past summer's joys, while in sharp contrast, now and men, the sound of a dropping hickory nut from high up amid the branches where some frisky squirrels were at play, broke as a discordant note into the softer leaf-music of the trees.
The ground beneath her feet was soft-carpeted with fallen leaves, drifting into rich mosaics, changing with each passing wind to new kaleidoscopic patterns of beauty and color.
At the further edge the woodland terminated abruptly in a deep ravine, which the girl must cross before her destination was reached. It was a lonely, picturesque spot, skirted by underbrush and cedar bushes, and lined with gray, lichen-clad boulders, jutting out boldly in fantastic shapes on either hand. Overarching trees and vines shut out the brighter daylight, and made a subdued twilight that kept the spot cool and shadowy even on the warmest of summer days—a hidden sylvan retreat fit for woodland nymph or dryad.
When the girl reached this ravine she skirted its edge until she should come to a place where an easier descent could be made into its shadowy depths, and had gone but a little way along its rim when, on glancing through an opening between the bushes, she caught sight of her neighbor, Steve Judson, coming up the dry, rocky bed of the stream, which in the rainy season was changed into a brawling torrent. He had neither seen her nor heard her approach, and was quite unaware that anyone was near.
Sophronia was just on the point of calling out and asking him to give her a helping hand in crossing the ravine, when something in his manner—a certain cautiousness of movement and an alertness of bearing—caught her attention and aroused her curiosity; so, keeping silent, she drew back amid the bushes and peered through a small space between the branches.
Steve clambered up the rocky defile until he reached a spot almost opposite to where Sophronia stood concealed. After a cautious glance around, he drew from under his coat an object that looked, from her point of observation, like an ordinary fruit jar.
He held the jar up in front of him a few moments, looking into it with close attention, turning it slowly around as he did so, then crossed over to the opposite side of the ravine, where, after placing his burden carefully at the foot of a cedar tree, he began to dig a hole in the ground near by.