Well, for goodness' sake, where was she? Where had she come to, without

thinking a single thing about it? Right on the ridge overlooking Aunt

Hetty's house to be sure, on those rocks that hang over it, so you could

almost throw a stone down any one of the chimneys. She might just as

well go down and make Aunt Hetty a visit now she was so near, and walk

home by the side-road. Of course Paul would say, nothing could keep him

from saying, that she had planned to do that very thing, right along,

and when she left the school-house headed straight for Aunt Hetty's

cookie-jar. Well, let him! She could just tell him, she'd never

dreamed of such a thing, till she found herself on those rocks.

She walked more and more slowly, letting herself down cautiously from

one ledge to another, and presently stopped altogether, facing a beech

tree, its trunk slowly twisted into a spiral because it was so hard to

keep alive on those rocks. She was straight in front of it, staring into

its gray white-blotched bark. Now if Mother asked her, of course she'd

have to say, yes, she had planned to, sort of but not quite. Mother

would understand. There wasn't any use trying to tell things how they

really were to Paul, because to him things weren't ever

sort-of-but-not-quite. They either were or they weren't. But Mother

always knew, both ways, hers and Paul's.

She stepped forward and downward now, lightened. Her legs stretched out

to carry her from one mossed rock to another. "Striding," that was what

she was doing. Now she knew just what "striding" meant. What fun it was

to feel what a word meant! Then when you used it, you could feel it

lie down flat in the sentence, and fit into the other words, like a

piece in a jig-saw puzzle when you got it into the right place.

Gracious! How fast you could "stride" down those rocks into Aunt Hetty's

back yard!

Hello! Here at the bottom was some snow, a great big drift of it still

left, all gray and shrunk and honey-combed with rain and wind, with a

little trickle of water running away softly and quietly from underneath

it, like a secret. Well, think of there being still snow left anywhere

except on top of the mountains! She had just been thinking all the

afternoon how good it seemed to have the snow all gone, and here she

ran right into some, as if you'd been talking about a person, saying how

sick and tired you were of everlastingly seeing him around, and there he

was, right outside the window and hearing it all, and knowing it wasn't

his fault he was still hanging on. You'd feel bad to know he'd heard.

She felt bad now! After all, the fun the snow had given them, all that

winter, sleighing and snow-shoeing and ski-running and sliding downhill.

And when she remembered how glad she'd been to see the first snow, how

she and little Mark had run to the window to see the first flakes, and

had hollered, Oh goody, goody! And here was all there was left, just

one poor old forgotten dirty drift, melting away as fast as it could,

so's to get itself out of the way. She stood looking down on it

compassionately, and presently, stooping over, gave it a friendly,

comforting pat with one mittened hand.




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