Again the weakness and the blackness came stealing over her; she sank down on the doorstep. 177
“O God, what have I done!” she wailed.
The hens returned to their search for bugs; but the big collie stayed by her side, whimpering and fondling her hand. 178
Chapter V––The Dominance of the Evolved
The keen joy of life was warmly flooding Ichabod Maurice this spring day. Not life for the sake of an ambition or a duty, but delight in the mere animal pleasure of existence. He had risen early, and, a neighbor with him, they had driven forth: stars all about, perpendicular, horizontal, save in the reddening east, upon their long day’s drive to the sawmill. The two teams plodded along steadily, their footfall muffled in the soft prairie loam; the earth elsewhere soundless, with a silence which even yet was a marvel to the city man.
The majesty of it held him silent until day dawned, and with the coming of the sun there woke in unison the chorus of joyous animal life. Then Ichabod, his long legs dangling over the dashboard, lifted up a voice untrained as the note of a loon, and sang lustily, until his companion 179 on the wagon ahead,––boy-faced, man-bodied,––grinned perilously.
The long-visaged man was near happiness that morning,––unbelievably near. By nature unsocial, by habit, city inbred, artificially taciturn, there came with the primitive happiness of the moment the concomitant primitive desire for companionship. He smiled self-tolerantly when, obeying an instinct, he wound the lines around the seat, and went ahead to the man, who grinned companionably as he made room beside him.
“God’s country, this.” Ichabod’s hand made an all-including gesture, as he seated himself comfortably, his hat low over his eyes.
“Yes, sir,” and the grin was repeated.
The tall man reflected. Sunburned, roughly dressed, unshaven as he, Maurice, was, this boy-man never failed the word of respect. Ichabod examined him curiously out of his shaded lids. Big brown hands; body strong as a bull; powerful shoulders; neck turned like a model; a soft chin under a soft, light beard; gentle blue eyes––all in all, a face so open that its very legibility 180 seemed a mark. It reddened now, under the scrutiny.