As he walked at the side of the wagon in which his companions were riding, along the narrow mountain road, trampling down the underbrush which bordered the way, he had still about him a remnant of the old debonair mien which had made him a social favorite in his younger days.
Amanda, as is the case with many women who have foresworn matrimonial and maternal cares, had withstood the blight of time remarkably well. Her round, rosy face had few new angles or lines, and her voice rang with youthful joy when she spoke of once more beholding familiar scenes and faces. It was her sister who had changed to a noticeable degree. There was a lack-luster expression about Addie's light-brown eyes, which had been so childlike and beautiful. Her hair was thinner; her skin had yellowed and withered; her teeth, for the most part, were gone, and those which remained appeared too prominent, isolated as they were in bare gums, when she forced a smile over some remark of her cheerful sister.
Crude as she was, Addie had followed, her poor mental hands always outstretched to grasp it, an ever-receding masculine ideal. In Jeff Warren, with his love of music and courage before men and gallantry to all women, she had once believed she had found it. But ideals do not thrive so well under hardship as violets rooted in filth, and Addie's heart constantly ached for the lost and the unattainable.
Suddenly Jeff turned to his companions and smiled. “I reckon I've got a big surprise for you both,” he chuckled, his hand resting on the wagon-bed. “'Tain't the first o' April, but I've been foolin' you. I tol' you this was White Rock Mountain, but it ain't no such a thing. It is the south spur of our old Bald, and as soon as we pass through that gap up thar we'll see Grayson right at the foot.”
“You don't say!” Amanda clapped her hands in delight. “Lord, Lord, I shorely shall be tickled to get back! I want to shake hands with everybody within reach. You'll never pull me away again, Jeff—never!”
Addie, in her turn, said nothing. She scarcely smiled. She was inexpressibly pained by the thought of having to live among old friends and associates in the dismantled log cabin Jeff had reluctantly described. A reminiscent sob rose and died within her as she recalled the comfortable farm-house to which Ralph Rundel, who now seemed almost faultless, had taken her as a bride. To this another pang of memory was added. By her conduct, innocent though it was, she had driven her only child from her, and how many times had her tired heart gone back to the sturdy youth who had toiled so uncomplainingly, and, young as he was, borne so many burdens! Was Paul alive or dead? she often asked herself. If alive, how he must hate her! If dead, then the baby, which she now sometimes recalled with the awakening yearning of a mother's dry breast, was gone forever.
Slowly the horse tugged up the slope. “Whoa!” Amanda cried out suddenly. “I'm goin' to jump out an' walk on to the top. I'm simply crazy to git a look at the valley. Somehow it seems like the Promised Land flowin' with milk an' honey.”
Only too willingly the horse stopped, and she sprang down to the ground.
“Don't you want to walk a little, Addie?” she asked. “You'd better limber up your legs. I'm as stiff as a pair o' tongs.”
Mrs. Warren sadly shook her head and Jeff tossed the reins into her lap.