The bees droned on and the lark grew fainter and fainter. Billy's eyes

drooped closer shut, his long curling lashes lay on his freckled cheeks

the way they lay sometimes when Aunt Saxon came to watch him. That

adorable sweep of lash that all mothers of boys know, that air of

dignity and innocence that makes you forget the day and its doings and

undoings and think only, this is a man child, a wonderful creature of

God, beloved and strong, a gift of heaven, a wonder in daytime, a

creature to be afraid of sometimes, but weak in sleep, adorable!

Billy slept.

The afternoon train lumbered in with two freight cars behind, and a lot

of crates and boxes to manipulate, but Billy slept. The five o'clock

train slid in and the evening express with its toll of guests for the

Lake Hotel who hustled off wearily, cheerily, and on to the little Lake

train that stood with an expectant insolent air like a necessary evil

waiting for a tip. The two trains champed and puffed and finally

scampered away, leaving echoes all along the valley, and a red stream

of sun down the track behind them from a sky aflame in the west

preparing for a brilliant sunset. The red fingers of the sun touched

the freckles on Billy's cheek lightly as if to warn him that the time

had come. The shutters slammed on at the little station. The agent

climbed the hill to his shack among the pines. Pat came out the door

and stood on the platform looking down the valley, waiting for the

agent to get out of sight.

And Billy slept on!




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