“But the lights look like they went up an' down through the tree tops.”
“I suppose he's carryin' water down from the spring on the mountain,” replied the woman, still bending over the shirts that lay spread out on the table.
CHAPTER IV
AT SUNRISE the following morning, a man riding a lean bay horse came down the mountain road toward the mill. His left hand was deformed, as though from infancy. The fingers doubled in against the wrist. He held the bridle rein, tied in a knot, over the crook of his arm. He was a big man and he sat in the saddle as though more accustomed to that seat than to any other. The horse traveled in a running walk. He turned into the little valley and approached the mill. The miller was feeding her chickens in the road before the door, throwing out handfuls of yellow corn. The man called to her before the horse stopped.
“Have you got enough of that corn for a horse-feed, Sally?”
The woman turned, scattering the chickens.
“Bless my life,” she said, “it's the doctor. Where you been?”
“Up there,” he replied, jerking his deformed arm toward the summit of the mountain where lay the bit of farm, marked by the gigantic trees.