Like the low murmur of
distant music came the beating wings of hundreds of her bees, rimming
the water trough, insane with thirst. On the wood-pile the guinea cock
clattered incessantly: "Phut rack! Phut rack!" Across the dooryard came
the old turkey-gobbler with fan tail and a rasping scrape of wing,
evincing his delight in spring and mating time by a series of explosive
snorts. On the barnyard gate the old Shanghai was lustily challenging
to mortal combat one of his kind three miles across country. From the
river arose the strident scream of her blue gander jealously guarding
his harem. In the poultry-yard the hens made a noisy cackling party,
and the stable lot was filled with cattle bellowing for the freedom of
the meadow pasture, as yet scarcely ready for grazing.

It seemed to the little woman, hesitating in the doorway, as if all
nature had entered into a conspiracy to lure her from her work, and
just then, clear and imperious, arose the demand of the Cardinal: "Come
here! Come here!"

Blank amazement filled her face. "As I'm a livin' woman!" she gasped.
"He's changed his song! That's what Abram meant by me bein' invited.
He's askin' folks to see his mate. I'm goin'."

The dull red of excitement sprang into her cheeks. She hurried on her
overshoes, and drew an old shawl over her head. She crossed the
dooryard, followed the path through the orchard, and came to the lane.
Below the barn she turned back and attempted to cross. The mud was deep
and thick, and she lost an overshoe; but with the help of a stick she
pried it out, and replaced it.

"Joke on me if I'd a-tumbled over in this mud," she muttered.

She entered the barn, and came out a minute later, carefully closing
and buttoning the door, and started down the line fence toward the
river.

Half-way across the field Abram saw her coming. No need to recount how
often he had looked in that direction during the afternoon. He slapped
the lines on the old gray's back and came tearing down the slope, his
eyes flashing, his cheeks red, his hands firmly gripping the plow that
rolled up a line of black mould as he passed.

Maria, staring at his flushed face and shining eyes, recognized that
his whole being proclaimed an inward exultation.

"Abram Johnson," she solemnly demanded, "have you got the power?"

"Yes," cried Abram, pulling off his old felt hat, and gazing into the
crown as if for inspiration. "You've said it, honey! I got the power!