For a quarter of a mile he and the wheel like two comrades raced under

branches, and threaded their way between trees. Then he came out into

the Highroad and mounting his wheel rode into the world just as the sun

shot up and touched the day with wonder.

He rode into the silent sleeping village of Sabbath Valley just as the

bells from the church chimed out gently, as bells should do on a

Sabbath morning when people are at rest, "One! Two! Three! Four! Five!"

Sabbath Valley looked great as he pedalled silently down the street.

Even the old squeak of the back wheel seemed to be holding its breath

for the occasion.

He coasted past the church and down the gentle incline in front of the

parsonage and Joneses, and the Littles and Browns and Gibsons. Like a

shadow of the night passing he slid past the Fowlers and Tiptons and

Duncannons, and fastened his eyes on the little white fence with the

white pillared gate where Mrs. Carter lived. Was that a light in the

kitchen window? And the barn that Mark used for his garage when he was

at home, was the door open? He couldn't quite see for the cyringa bush

hid it from the road. With a furtive glance up and down the street he

wheeled in at the driveway, and rode up under the shadow of the green

shuttered white house.

He dismounted silently, stealthily, rested his wheel against the trunk

of a cherry tree, and with keen eyes for every window, glanced up to

the open one above which he knew belonged to Mark's room. Strong grimy

fingers went to his lips and a low cautious whistle, more like a bird

call issued forth, musical as any wild note.

The white muslin curtains wavered back and forth in the summer breeze,

and for a moment he thought a head was about to appear for a soft

stirring noise had seemed to move within the house somewhere, but the

curtains swayed on and no Mark appeared. Then he suddenly was aware of

a white face confronting him at the downstairs window directly opposite

to him, white and scared and--was it accusing? And suddenly he began to

tremble. Not all the events of the night had made him tremble, but now

he trembled, it was Mark's mother, and she had pink rims to her eyes,

and little damp crimples around her mouth and eyes for all the world

like Aunt Saxon's. She looked--she looked exactly as though she had not

slept all night. Her nose was thin and red, and her eyes had that awful

blue that eyes get that have been much washed with tears. The soft

waves of her hair drooped thinly, and the coil behind showed more

threads of silver than of brown in the morning sun that shot through

the branches of the cherry tree. She had a frightened look, as if Billy

had brought some awful news, or as if it was his fault, he could not

tell which, and he began to feel that choking sensation and that

goneness in the pit of his stomach that Aunt Saxon always gave him when

she looked frightened at something he had done or was going to do.

Added to this was that sudden premonition, and a memory of that

drooping still figure in the dark up on the mountain.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024