“Of all these buildings,” she went on after a time, “I have the little cabin where he was born. I was born in just such a cabin, way up on the side of Big Black Mountain.”
“Oh!” Jeanne’s eyes opened wide. “And is that your home now?”
“No, no! Now we have two rooms and two real glass windows.
“Of course,” Jensie half apologised, “that isn’t very much. But there’s a porch to sit on all summer long. And oh! it is beautiful in the mountains in the springtime. When the dogwood blossoms are like drifting snow on the hillsides, when little streams covered over with mountain ivy come dashing, cool, damp and fragrant, from far up the mountains, oh, then it is a joy to live!
“Will you come and see me there some time? You two?” Her voice rang with eagerness.
“Yes, yes!” Jeanne cried impulsively, throwing her arms about the girl and kissing her apple-red cheek. “Yes, indeed! We will come in spring when the dogwood is in bloom.”
Once again silence settled over the room where darkness played hide and seek with little streaks of light among the massive hand-hewn rafters.
Only an ancient clock in a far corner disturbed the silence with its solemn tick-tock, tick-tock.
“Listen!” Jeanne gripped Florence’s arm. The clock made a curious noise like a very old man clearing his throat, then struck twice: Dong! Dong!
“Two o’clock!” Jeanne sprang to her feet. “Two o’clock! This is my hour of enchantment! We must be going!