Contrary Mary

Sweeping through a country of white sand and of charred trees run hard

clay highways. When motor cars from the cities and health resorts

began to invade the pines, it was found that the old wagon trails were

inadequate; hence there followed experiments which resulted in

intersecting orange-colored roads, throughout the desert-like expanse.

It was on a day in April that over the road which led up toward the

hills there sailed the snowy-white canopy of one of the strange

land-craft of that region--a schooner-wagon drawn by two fat mules who

walked at a leisurely but steady pace, seemingly without guidance from

any hand.

Yet that, beneath the hooded cover, there was a directing power, was

demonstrated, as the mules turned suddenly from the hot road to a wagon

path beneath the shelter of the pines.

It was strewn thick with brown needles, and the sharp hoofs of the

little animals made no sound. Deeper and deeper they went into the

wood, until the swinging craft and its clumsy steeds seemed to swim in

a sea of emerald light.

On and on breasting waves of golden gloom, where the sunlight sifted

in, to anchor at last in a still space where the great trees sang

overhead.

Then from beneath the canopy emerged a man in khaki.

He took off his hat, and stood for a moment looking up at the great

trees, then he called softly, "Mary."

She came to the back of the wagon and he lifted her down.

"This is my cathedral," he said; "it is the place of the biggest pines."

She leaned against him and looked up. His arm was about her. She wore

a thin silk blouse and a white skirt. Her soft fair hair was blown

against his cheek.

"Roger," she said, "was there ever such a honeymoon?"

"Was there ever such a woman--such a wife?"

After that they were silent. There was no need for words. But

presently he spread a rug for her, and built their fire, and they had

their lunch. The mules ate comfortably in the shade, and rested

throughout the long hot hours of the afternoon.

Then once more the strange craft sailed on. On and on over miles of

orange roadway, passing now and then an orchard, flaunting the

rose-color of its peach trees against the dun background of sand;

passing again between drifts of dogwood, which shone like snow beneath

the slanting rays of the sun--sailing on and on until the sun went

down. Then came the shadowy twilight, with the stars coming out in the

warm dusk--then the moonlight--and the mocking-birds singing.