To be turned off
like a beggar, without a moment's warning, after all his years of toil!
To say good-bye forever to the human friends who loved him, and the
dear, dumb friends whom he had fondled and tended with such constant
care. Never again to swing along through the sweet freshness of the
morning before the sun was up to find the earliest snowdrops for Mrs.
Hawthorne, or take a spin in the moonlight with every nerve a-tingle
across the frozen bosom of the lake, or wander in delight along the wood
roads when every tree was clad in the witching beauty of a silver thaw,
or sweep across the wide stretching country in the very poetry of
motion, or hear the soft swish of the tall grass as it fell in fragrant
rows before the mower, or the creak of the vans as they bore its ripened
sweetness towards the great barns, while bird and bee and locust joined
in the harmony of the Harvest Home, until the sun sank to rest amidst
cloud draperies of royal purple and crimson and gold and the
sweet-voiced twilight soothed the world into peace.
On and on the hours swept while John fought his battle. At length he
rose, and with long, lingering glances of good-bye to every tree and
rock and flower, began his homeward way. He would think of it so while
he could. In a few short hours he would be a wanderer upon the face of
the earth. A sudden joy crept into the weary eyes.
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