The material prosperity of Laurel Cove was not in the least affected by the evil spirit apparently ruling the people. The corn-fields promised an abundant harvest, and the orchards were rich in fruits.
Mrs. Harding was an industrious woman, toiling early and late, and her hours of repose were, in the main, peaceful, though she rose sometimes in the middle of the night and crept softly to Sarah Betsy's bed to see that she also slept; for her heart yearned secretly over this disobedient daughter who had lost her bright, cheerful ways since John Hurd went away from the Cove. She suffered almost as much as the girl, though they said little to each other about it. Once Mrs. Harding did attempt to reason with Sarah Betsy, but she turned and said:
"Didn't you love Pa?"
"Didn't I? There wusn't many men to equal your pa."
"In your eyes, Ma, but maybe not in the eyes o' them what didn't love him. Love makes a mighty difference in the way we look at fo'ks. I 'low ever' woman thinks the man she loves is the best in the world."
Her mother said no more; but she ceased not to muse on the mystery and power of love. One morning she had started to the cow lot with a milk pail on her arm, when she saw a woman coming slowly through the sparse timber in the rear of the barn, a sunbonnet pulled closely over her head and face. It was very early. Deep Cimmerian shadows still obscured the low country, though the crimson light of dawn was spreading upward from the east, and a fading spectral moon sank slowly behind the western mountains. The morning star hung over the crest of Bush Mountain, heralding the day, and fine elusive mists rolled away from the Cove into the hollows and ravines of the guarding ranges.
A ghostly stillness seemed to hang over the world, and Mrs. Harding could hear the dry twigs crackling sharply under the feet of the slowly approaching woman. She went on into the lot and poured some bran and peas into the feeding-trough, and softly called the cow, standing in a distant corner. The stranger walked timidly up to the bars, and pushed back her sunbonnet. She was a small, meek-faced old woman, withered and gray.
"Good-mornin', Mis' Harding."
Mrs. Harding stiffened rigidly, and stared coldly at her, not recognizing her until she had spoken.
"You air out early, Mis' Hurd."