And as he stood watching them out of sight down the Road the twilight faded from off the Valley and darkness came down in a starlit veil from over old Harpeth.  Everett climbed up and seated himself on the top rail of the fence and again gave himself over to his moods.  This time one of bitterness, almost anger, rose to the surface.  The same old wheel grinding out here in the wilderness that he had left in the market places of the world.  The vision he had caught of the great cycle being turned by some still greater source above the hills was—­a vision.  The wheels ground on with the victims strapped and the cogs dripping.  Loot and the woman—­loot and the woman!  And he had thought that out here “in the hollow of His hand” he had lost the sound of that grind.  And such a woman—­the lovely gracious thing with the unfaithful, dishonored lover’s child in her arms, other women’s tumbling children clinging to her skirts and with hands outstretched to protect and comfort the old gray heads in her care!  A woman with a sorrow in her heart but with eyes that were deep blue pools in which there mirrored loves for all her little world!  For a long time he sat and looked out into the darkness, then suddenly he squared his shoulders, gripped the rail tight in his hands for a half second and then slipped to the ground.  Picking up his switch he turned and strode off toward Sweetbriar, which by this time was a little handful of fireflys glowing down in the sweet meadows.

When he got as far as the blacksmith’s shop Everett climbed the wall and approached the house through the garden, for in front of the store had been piled high a bonfire of empty boxes and dry wood boughs, and most of the inhabitants of Sweetbriar, small fry and large, were assembled in jocular groups around its blaze of light.  He could see Mr. Crabtree and Bob rolling out an empty barrel to serve as a speaking stand for the Honorable Gid, who stood in the foreground in front of the store steps talking to Uncle Tucker, with an admiring circle around him.  Horses and wagons and buggies were hitched at various posts along the road, which indicated the gathering of a small crowd from neighboring towns to hear the coming oration, and the front porch of the store presented a scene of unwonted excitement.

Everett clicked the garden gate and steered around to the back door of the kitchen in hopes of finding black Mag still at her post and begging of her a glass of milk and a biscuit.  But as he stood in the doorway, instead of Mag he discovered Rose Mary with her white skirts tucked up under one of her long kitchen aprons, putting the final polishing touch to a shining pile of dishes.  She looked up at him for a second, and then went on with her work, and Everett could see that her curled lips were trembling like a hurt child’s.

“I—­I thought I might get a bite of something from—­from Mag if she hadn’t left—­the kitchen—­I—­I—­” Everett hesitated on the threshold and in speech.  “I—­I am sorry to trouble you,” he finished lamely.