and there, th'
plow'll stick often an' things'll be out of gear, but yer in th' furrow
all the time. Ye'll change horses, ye'll change clothes, ye'll change
yerself, but ye'll always be in the furrow, plowin', plowin', plowin'!
I'll go a bit of th' way, Jamie'll go a bit, yer brothers an' sisters a
bit, but we'll dhrap out wan b' wan. Ye're God's plowmaan."

As I stood to say good-night she put her hand on my head and muttered
something that was not intended for me to hear. Then she kissed me good
night and I climbed to my pallet under the thatch.

I was afraid to sleep, lest the "feelin'" should take wings. When I was
convinced that some of it, at least, would remain, I tried to sleep and
couldn't. The mingled ecstasy and excitement was too intense. I heard
the town clock strike the hours far into the morning.

Before she awoke next morning I had exhausted every agency in the house
that would coordinate flesh and spirit. When I was ready I tiptoed to
her bedside and touched her on the cheek. Instantly she awoke and sat
upright. I put my hands on my hips and danced before her. It was a
noiseless dance with bare feet on the mud floor.

Her long thin arms shot out toward me and I buried myself in them. "So
it stayed," she whispered in my ear.

"Aye, an' there's more of it."

She arose and dressed quickly. A live coal was scraped out of the ashes
and a turf fire built around it. My feet were winged as I flew to the
town well for water. When I returned she had several slices of toast
ready. Toast was a luxury. Of course there was always--or nearly
always--bread, and often there was butter, but toast to the very poor in
those days wasn't merely a matter of bread and butter, fire and time! It
was more often inclination that turned the balance for or against it,
and inclination always came on the back of some emotion, chance or
circumstance. Here all the elements met and the result was toast.

I took a mouthful of her tea out of her cup; she reciprocated. We were
like children. Maybe we were. Love tipped our tongues, winged our feet,
opened our hearts and hands and permeated every thought and act. She
stood at the mouth of the entry until I disappeared at the town head.
While I was yet within sight I looked back half a dozen times and we
waved our hands.

It was nearly a year before a dark line entered this spiritual spectrum.
It was inevitable that such a mental condition--ever in search of a
larger expression--shoul