In a blaze of splendor the morning sun broke over the mountain,
throwing its scraggy brown bowlders, spruce-pines, thorn-bushes,
and tangled vines into impenetrable shadow. Massed at the base and
along the rocky sides were mists as dense as clouds, through the
filmy upper edges of which the yellow light shone as through a
mighty prism, dancing on the dew-coated corn-blades, cotton-plants,
and already drinking from the fresh-ploughed, mellow soil of the
farm-lands which fell away in gentle undulations to the confines of
the village hard by. "A fellow couldn't ask for a prettier day than
this, no matter how greedy he was," Alfred Henley mused as he stood
in the doorway of his barn and heard the gnawing of the horses he
had just fed in the stalls behind him. A hundred yards distant, on
the main-travelled road which ran into the village of Chester, only
half a mile away, stood his house, the eight rooms of which were
divided into two equal parts by an open veranda, in which there was
a shelf for water-pails, tin wash-basins, and a towel on a clumsy
roller. A slender woman, with harsh, sharp features, older-looking
than her thirty years would have justified, and a stiff figure
disguised by few attempts at adornment, was sweeping the veranda
floor, and in chairs propped back against the weather-boarding sat
an old man and an old woman in the plainest of mountain attire.
General
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