She forgot
all about her horse, which looked after her as long as she was in
sight, and then turned and trotted back the way it had come,
wondering, no doubt, at the foolish faith this rider had in him.
The path led up along the side of the flat, through tall grass
and all the brilliant blossoms of a mountain meadow in June.
Great, graceful mountain lilies nodded from little shady tangles
in the bushes. Harebells and lupines, wild-pea vines and
columbines, tiny, gnome-faced pansies, violets, and the daintier
flowering grasses lined the way with odorous loveliness. Birds
called happily from the tree tops. Away up next the clouds an
eagle sailed serene, alone, a tiny boat breasting the currents of
the sky ocean.
Marie's rage cooled a little on that walk. It was so beautiful
for Lovin Child, up here in this little valley among the snow-
topped mountains; so sheltered. Yesterday's grind in that beehive
of a department store seemed more remote than South Africa.
Unconsciously her first nervous pace slackened. She found herself
taking long breaths of this clean air, sweetened with the scent
of growing things. Why couldn't the world be happy, since it was
so beautiful? It made her think of those three weeks in Big
Basin, and the never-forgettable wonder of their love--hers
and Bud's.
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