“Ter think I never asked her name!” murmured Gincy’s cousin in sudden dismay as Talitha left the car.
IV
THE STORM
When Talitha alighted from the train the sun had not yet risen, but the rosy banners which heralded its coming floated wide across the eastern sky. It was on a morning like this that she and Martin had started homeward with such elation of spirits, such hopes for the coming year. But then summer was just begun; now it had gone and her hopes with it.
She started across the foothills and up the long mountain trail, the old elasticity gone from her step, the hardness of her lot weighting her down. It seemed as though her feet could never carry her the long, weary way home. Upon a jutting crag she stopped and looked back. Far in the distance, cradled among the foothills of the Cumberlands, it lay, the place of her heart’s desire. Would she ever see it again?
Talitha looked at the sky. The breakfast bell would be ringing by this time, and happy, laughing faces gathered around the long tables. Her head bowed as though she could hear the fervent grace, and a sob rose in her throat. Suddenly the petition of a young leader at prayers, the night before, came to her: “Wilt Thou give us strength and courage to meet bravely the trials and temptations of each day.” How full of meaning they were to the one who uttered them Talitha well knew. Owen Calfee’s face showed with what high courage he was meeting the hardships which had beset his path from early youth.
Talitha fiercely blinked back the tears. “I’m plumb spoilin’ everythin’ by my foolishness,” she thought aloud, unconsciously relapsing into the speech of the mountains. “I reckon hit ain’t pleasin’ ter the Lord—my thinkin’ sech sorry thoughts. I’ve clean forgotten that I’d ought ter be thankful that Martin could stay and that Gincy’s havin’ a chance. My, but if she isn’t the happiest child!” Talitha rose reluctantly. “I shouldn’t like to be caught in the dark, and that’s what I’m bound to be if I stop here any longer.” She stretched out her hands toward the valley with a wistful gesture of parting. “I’m so glad you’re there, Gincy,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t have you home for nothing.”
Through the long forenoon’s weary climb up the mountain’s interminable slope and over its craggy crest to the other side, she resolutely laid aside all thoughts of her disappointment and began making plans to be put into execution as soon as possible after reaching home.
At noon she was almost thankful that she had not reached the creek where the little party had lunched so happily two days before. Now she spread her simple fare upon a smooth ledge and watched the varied light and shadow across the fast changing foliage as she ate. The birds fluttered and sang in the pines above her head. Now and then one grew bold enough to fly down for the crumbs she scattered upon the ground. Over the opposite edge of the flinty table a pair of bright eyes peered longingly. Talitha laughed as she flung the bushy-tailed visitor her last morsel, and rose to resume her journey.
She planned to reach home by supper time, but it had not been so easy to travel without the aid of a strong arm over the roughest places. No thought of fear had entered her mind until that moment; now the prospect of being alone at night on those wooded heights where the darkness was dense under the thick branching trees made her shrink.
The afternoon was half gone when Talitha dropped down at the foot of a pine, tired and footsore. She was not yet rested from the journey of the two days previous, and it seemed as though her aching feet could never carry her home that night. She sat debating with herself as to the possibility of finding a nearby shelter. Not a cabin was in sight. She looked around anxiously, shading her eyes with her hand, to peer along the ridges. A broad shaft of sunlight lay across the leafage of the opposite mountain. How vividly it brought out the autumn tints which flecked the green like rich tapestry. Then, with a frightened gasp of dismay, she noticed for the first time the pile of threatening clouds in the west, and the long, deep shadows which lay in the hollows of those great hills.