The Southerner | Page 4

my life. All that I am I owe
to you.'"
She paused a moment and whispered:
"O Tom, man, a new song is singing in my soul!"
II
The woman rose quietly and went the rounds of her daily work. She
made her bed to-day in trance-like silence. It was no gilded couch, but
it had been built by the hand of her lover and was sacred. It filled the
space in one corner of the cabin farthest from the fire. A single post of
straight cedar securely fixed in the ground held the poles in place which
formed the side and foot rail. The walls of the cabin formed the other
side and head. Across from the pole were fixed the slender hickory
sticks that formed the springy hammock on which the first mattress of
moss and grass rested. On this was placed a feather bed made from the
wild fowl Tom had killed during the past two years. The pillows were
of the finest feathers from the breasts of ducks. A single quilt of ample
size covered all, and over this was thrown a huge counterpane of bear
skins. Two enormous bear rugs almost completely covered the dirt

floor, and a carpet of oak leaves filled out the spaces.
The feather bed beaten smooth, the fur covering drawn in place and the
pillows set upright against the cabin wall, she turned to the two bunks
in the opposite corner and carefully re-arranged them. They might be
used soon. This was the corner of her home set aside for guests. Tom
had skillfully built two berths boat fashion, one above the other, in this
corner, and a curtain drawn over a smooth wooden rod cut this space
off from the rest of the room when occupied at night by visitors.
The master of this cabin never allowed a stranger to pass without
urging him to stop and in a way that took no denial.
A savory dish of stewed squirrel and corn dumplings served for lunch.
The baby's face was one glorious smear of joy and grease at its finish.
The mother took the bucket from its shelf and walked leisurely to the
spring, whose limpid waters gushed from a rock at the foot of the hill.
The child toddled after her, the little moccasined feet stepping gingerly
over the sharp gravel of the rough places.
Before filling the bucket she listened again for the crack of Tom's rifle,
and could hear nothing. A death-like stillness brooded over the woods
and fields. He was probably watching for muskrat under the bluff of the
creek. He had promised to stay within call to-day.
The afternoon dragged wearily. She tried to read the one book she
possessed, the Bible. The pages seemed to fade and the eyes refused to
see.
"O Man, Man, why don't you come home!" she cried at last.
She rose, walked to the door, looked and listened--only the distant
rattle of a woodpecker's beak on a dead tree in the woods. The snow
began to fall in little fitful dabs. It was two miles to the nearest cabin,
and her soul rose in fierce rebellion at her loneliness. It was easy for a
man who loved the woods, the fields and running waters, this life, but
for the woman who must wait and long and eat her heart out alone--she

vowed anew that she would not endure it. By the sheer pull of her will
she would lift this man from his drifting life and make him take his
place in the real battle of the world. If her new baby were only a boy,
he could help her and she would win. Again she stood dreaming of the
vision she had seen at dawn.
The dark young face suddenly went white and her hand gripped the
facing of the door.
She waited half doubting, half amused at her fears. It was only the
twinge of a muscle perhaps. She smiled at her sudden panic. The
thought had scarcely formed before she blanched the second time and
the firm lips came together with sudden energy as she glanced at the
child playing on the rug at her feet.
She seized the horn that hung beside the door and blew the pioneer's
long call of danger. Its shrill note rang through the woods against the
hills in cadences that seemed half muffled by the falling snow.
Again her anxious eyes looked from the doorway. Would he never
come! The trembling slender hand once more lifted the horn, a single
wild note rang out and broke suddenly into silence. The horn fell from
her limp grasp and she lifted her eyes to the darkening sky in prayer, as
Tom's voice from the edge of the woods came strong and full:
"Yes,