On
the hillside the light is burning. It is only a short half mile, and
the way is easy. In the old house at the end of the street another
light is blinking solemnly. Beneath it Tim is waiting. He misses me.
He wonders why I am so long. Soon he will be coming. Base deserter,
truly! But for once--this once--for the white road over the flat and
up the hillside leads to the light!
VI
"Why, Mark, but you did give me a start!" cried Luther Warden, laying
down his book and hurrying forward to greet me.
It was not surprising that the good man should be taken back, for in
all the years we had lived together in the valley this was my first
evening visit. So unusual an occurrence required an explanation, so I
said that I just happened to be taking a stroll and dropped in for a
minute. I glanced at Mary to see if she understood my feeble
subterfuge, but I met only a frank smile, as though, like her uncle,
she believed that I was likely to go hobbling about on moonlight nights
this way. Luther never doubted me.
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