"I declar' things are goin' on so smooth that something must be gettin'
ready to happen," she said anxiously to herself at least twenty times a
day--for she had observed life, and in her opinion, the observation had
verified the rigid principles of her religion. Do what you would the
doctrines of original sin and predestination kept cropping up under the
surface of existence. And so--"It looks all right on top, but you never
can tell," was the habitual attitude of her mind.
When dinner was over, Abel went out to the mill, with Moses, the hound,
trotting at his heels. The high wind was still blowing, and while he
stood by the mill-race, the boughs of the sycamore rocked back and forth
over his head with a creaking noise. At each swing of the branches a
crowd of broad yellow leaves was torn from the stems and chased over the
moving wheel to the open meadow beyond.
With the key of the mill in his hand, Abel stopped to gaze over the
green knoll where he had once planned to build his house. Beyond it he
saw the strip of pines, and he knew that the tallest of the trees had
fallen uselessly beneath his axe.
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