She laid her hand on David's arm, that strong, shapely, capable hand,
and whispered, "David, if I might have what you and Carol have, if I
could be happy in the way that you are, I think I should be willing to
lose the sunshine on the slopes and dwell entirely in the darkness of
the canyons. But I haven't got it, I don't know how to get it." Then
she added slowly, "But I suppose, having what you two have, one could
not lose the sunshine on the slopes."
CHAPTER XIX
RE-CREATION
Were you ever wakened in the early morning by the clear whistle of a
meadow-lark over your head, with the rich scent of the mountain pines
coming to you on the pure light air of a new day, with the sun wrapping
the earth in misty blue, and staining the mountains with rose? To
David, lying on his cot in the open air, every dawning morning was a
new creation, a brand new promise of hope. To be sure, the enchantment
was like to be broken in a moment, still the call of the morning had
fired his blood, and given him a new impetus,--impetus, not for work,
not for ambition, not for activity, just an impetus to lie quietly on
his cot and be happy.
The birds were shortly rivaled by the sweeter, dearer, not less
heavenly voice of little Julia, calling an imaginary dog, counting her
mother's eyes, or singing to herself an original improvise upon the
exalted subject of two brown bugs.
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