"That closes the door on your sufferings," he said' smiling down at
her. "Goodbye to it all."
The baby laughed and stretched out its hands toward the light.
"Boo, boo!" he cried.
"What's he talking about?"
She smiled in perfect trust and fearlessness, seeing her child's face
beside his own. "He says it's beautiful."
"Oh, he does? I can't follow his French accent."
She smiled again, in spite of herself. Will shuddered with a thrill
of fear, she was so weak and worn. But the sun shone on the
dazzling, rustling wheat, the fathomless sky blue, as a sea, bent
above them-and the world lay before them.
UP THE COULEE
A STORY OF WISCONSIN
"Keep the main-travelled road up the coulee-it's the second house
after crossin' the crick."
THE ride from Milwaukee to the Mississippi is a fine ride at any
time, superb in summer. To lean back in a reclining chair and
whirl away in a breezy July day, past lakes, groves of oak, past
fields of barley being reaped, past hayfields, where the heavy grass
is toppling before the swift sickle, is a panorama of delight, a road
full of delicious surprises, where down a sudden vista lakes open,
or a distant wooded hill looms darkly blue, or swift streams,
foaming deep down the solid rock, send whiffs of cool breezes in
at the window.
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