And then to her, a woman of the fields, had come down Providence Road over the Ridge from the great world outside—­the miracle.  She slipped her hand into her pocket for just one rapturous crush of the treasure-letter when suddenly it was borne in upon her that it might be that even that must come to an end for her.  Stay she must by her nest of helpless folk, and was it with futile wings he was breasting the great outer currents of which she was so ignorant?  His letters told her nothing of what he was doing, just were filled to the word with half-spoken love and longing and, above all, with a great impatience about what, or for what, it was impossible for her to understand.  She could only grieve over it and long to comfort him with all the strength of her love for him.  And so with thinking, puzzling and sad planning the afternoon wore away for her and sunset found her at the house putting the household in order and to bed with her usual cheery fostering of creaking joints and cumbersome retiring ceremonies.

At last she was at liberty to fling her exhausted body down on the cool, patched, old linen sheets of the great four-poster which had harbored many of her foremothers and let herself drift out on her own troubled waters.  Wrapped in the compassionate darkness she was giving way to the luxury of letting the controlled tears rise to her eyes and the sobs that her white throat ached from suppressing all day were echoing on the stillness when a voice came from the little cot by her bed and the General in disheveled nightshirt and rumpled head rose by her pillow and stood with uncertain feet on his own springy place of repose.

“Rose Mamie,” he demanded in an awestruck tone of voice that fairly trembled through the darkness, “are you a-crying?”

“Yes, Stonie,” she answered in a shame-forced gurgle that would have done credit to Jennie Rucker in her worst moments of abasement before the force of the General.

“Does your stomach hurt you?” he demanded in a practical though sympathetic tone of voice, for so far in his journey along life’s road his sleep had only been disturbed by retributive digestive causes.

“No,” sniffed Rose Mary with a sob that was tinged with a small laugh.  “It’s my heart, darling,” she added, the sob getting the best of the situation.  “Oh, Stonie, Stonie!”

“Now, wait a minute, Rose Mamie,” exclaimed the General as he climbed up and perched himself on the edge of the big bed.  “Have you done anything you are afraid to tell God about?”

“No,” came from the depths of Rose Mary’s pillow.

“Then don’t cry because you think Mr. Mark ain’t coming back, like Mis’ Rucker said she was afraid you was grieving about when she thought I wasn’t a-listening.  He’s a-coming back.  Me and him have got a bargain.”

“What about, Stonie?” came in a much clearer voice from the pillow, and Rose Mary curled herself over nearer to the little bird perched on the edge of her bed.