of nature. Hers was the gentle look
of wild things--but it was more; it was the understanding of--the
unwritten law of creation, the law by which the flowers grow, and wither;
the law by which the animal springs upon its prey, and, unerring, seeks
its mate; the law of the song of the waters, and the song of the morning
stars; the law that permits evil and pain and dumb, incomprehensible
suffering; the law that floods at sunset the mountain lands with colour
and the soul with light; and the law that rends the branches in the blue
storm. Of what avail was anger against it, or the puny rage of man?
Hilary Vane, not recognizing it, had spent his force upon it, like a hawk
against a mountain wall, but Austen looked at his mother's face and
understood. In it was not the wisdom of creeds and cities, but the
unworldly wisdom which comprehends and condones.

His packing finished, with one last glance at the room Austen went
downstairs with his valises and laid them on the doorstep. Then he went
to the stable and harnessed Pepper, putting into the buggy his stable
blanket and halter and currycomb, and, driving around to the front of the
house, hitched the horse at the stone post, and packed the valises in the
back of the buggy. After that he walked slowly to the back of the house
and looked in at the kitchen window. Euphrasia, her thin arms bare to the
elbow, was bending over a wash-tub. He spoke her name, and as she lifted
her head a light came into her face which seemed to make her young again.
She dried her hands hastily on her apron as she drew towards him. He
sprang through the window, and patted her on the back--his usual
salutation. And as she raised her eyes to his (those ordinarily sharp
eyes of Euphrasia's), they shone with an admiration she had accorded to
no other human being since he had come into the world. Terms of
endearment she had, characteristically, never used, she threw her soul
into the sounding of his name.

"Off to the hills, Austen? I saw you a-harnessing of Pepper."

"Phrasie," he said, still patting her, "I'm going to the country for a
while."

"To the country?" she repeated.

"To stay on a farm for a sort of vacation."

Her face brightened.

"Goin' to take a real vacation, be you?"

He laughed.

"Oh, I don't have to work very hard, Phrasie. You know I get out a good
deal. I just thought--I just thought I'd like to--sleep in the country
--for a while."

"Well," answered Euphrasia, "I guess