CHAPTER X

IN THE HOLLOW OF HIS HAND


And the next morning a threatening, scowling, tossed-cloud dawn
brought the day over the head of Old Harpeth down upon little
Sweetbriar, which awakened with one accord to a sense of melancholy
oppression. A cool, dust-laden wind blew down Providence Road, twisted
the branches of the tall maples along the way, tore roughly at the
festoons of blooming vines over the gables of the Briars, startled the
nestled doves into a sad crooning, whipped mercilessly at the row of
tall hollyhocks along the garden fence, flaunted the long spikes of
jack-beans and carried their quaint fragrance to pour it over the bed
of sober-colored mignonette, mixing it with the pungent zinnia odor
and flinging it all over into the clover field across the briar
hedge. The jovial old sun did his very best to light up the situation,
but just as he would succeed in getting a ray down into the Valley a
great puffy cloud would cast a gray shadow of suppression over his
effort and retire him sternly for another half hour.

And on the wings of the intruding, out-of-season wind came a train of
ills. Young Tucker Poteet waked at daylight and howled dismally with a
pain that seemed to be all over and then in spots. When he went to
take down the store shutters Mr. Crabtree smashed one of his large,
generous-spreading thumbs and Mrs. Rucker's breakfast eggs burned to a
cinder state while she tied it up in camphor for him. In the night a