"
Early in the morning Rolf gathered the trifles he had secured for
the little children and the book he had bought for Annette, a
sweet story of a perfect girl who died and went to heaven, the
front embellished with a thrilling wood-cut. Then he crossed the
familiar five-mile portage at a pace that in an hour brought him
to the lake.
The greeting at Van's was that of a brother come home.
"Vell, Rolf, it's goood to see ye back. It's choost vat I vented.
Hi, Marta, I told it you, yah. I say, now I hope ze good Gott
send Rolf. Ach, how I am shpoil!"
Yes, indeed. The hay was ready; the barley was changing. So Rolf
took up his life on the farm, doing work that a year before was
beyond his strength, for the spirit of the hills was on him, with
its impulse of growth, its joy in effort, its glory in strength.
And all who saw the longlegged, long-armed, flat- backed youth
plying fork or axe or hoe, in some sort ventured a guess: "He'll
be a good 'un some day; the kind o' chap to keep friendly with.
Chapter 56. The Sick Ox
The Thunder Moon passed quickly by; the hay was in; the barley
partly so.
Pages:
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319