the new ground, fired his mind and awoke the sleeping sense of beauty
in the boy. He sat upon the log drunk with happiness that the world in
which he lived could be so beautiful. In his bed at night he dreamed
of the valley, confounding it with the old Bible tale of the Garden of
Eden, told him by his mother. He dreamed that he and his mother went
over the hill and down toward the valley but that his father, wearing
a long white robe and with his red hair blowing in the wind, stood
upon the hillside swinging a long sword blazing with fire and drove
them back.

When the boy went again over the hill it was October and a cold wind
blew down the hill into his face. In the woods golden brown leaves ran
about like frightened little animals and golden-brown were the leaves
on the trees about the farmhouses and golden-brown the corn standing
shocked in the fields. The scene saddened the boy. A lump came into
his throat and he wanted back the green shining beauty of the spring.
He wished to hear the birds singing in the air and in the grass on the
hillside.

Cracked McGregor was in another mood. He seemed more satisfied than on
the first visit and ran up and down on the little eminence rubbing his
hands together and on the legs of his trousers. Through the long
afternoon he sat on the log muttering and smiling.

On the road home through the darkened woods the restless hurrying
leaves frightened the boy so that, with his weariness from walking
against the wind, his hunger from being all day without food, and with
the cold nipping at his body, he began to cry. The father took the boy
in his arms and holding him across his breast like a babe went down
the hill to their home.