"You must come agin," she cried, on the morning of that ninth day, as
she stood in the doorway of her little log-house and waved her apron at
us. "It's been a treat to have you."
So we went away, Tip and I, with Harmon Shadrack's mule and the
battered buggy. Our backs were turned to the Sunset Land. Our faces
were toward the East and the red glow of the early morning. When we
saw Thunder Knob again, Happy Valley was far below us, and only the
thin spire of smoke drifting through the pines marked the Shadrack
clearing. I kissed my hand in farewell salute to it. Perhaps John's
widow saw me--she sees so much in her dreams.
"There's no place like Black Log," said Tip, as we turned the crest of
Thunder Knob. "Mind how pretty it is--mind the shadders on the ridge
yon--and them white barns. Mind the big creek--there by the kivered
bridge--ain't it gleamin' cheerful? There's no place like our walley."
XIX
It was dark when I reached home. Opening the door, I groped my way
across the room till I found the lamp and lighted it.
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