but with the help of a stick she pried it out, and replaced it.

"Joke on me if I'd a-tumbled over in this mud," she muttered.

She entered the barn, and came out a minute later, carefully
closing and buttoning the door, and started down the line fence
toward the river.

Half-way across the field Abram saw her coming. No need to
recount how often he had looked in that direction during the
afternoon. He slapped the lines on the old gray's back and came
tearing down the slope, his eyes flashing, his cheeks red, his
hands firmly gripping the plow that rolled up a line of black
mould as he passed.

Maria, staring at his flushed face and shining eyes, recognized
that his whole being proclaimed an inward exultation.

"Abram Johnson," she solemnly demanded, "have you got the power?"

"Yes," cried Abram, pulling off his old felt hat, and gazing into
the crown as if for inspiration. "You've said it, honey! I got
the power! Got it of a little red bird! Power o' spring! Power
o' song! Power o' love! If that poor little red target for some
ornery cuss's bullet can get all he's getting out o' life to-day,
there's no cause why a reasonin' thinkin' man shouldn't realize
some o' his blessings. You hit it, Maria; I got the power. It's
the power o' God, but I learned how to lay hold of it from that
little red bird. Come here, Maria!"