"
Howard spent most of the afternoon sitting with his mother on the
porch, or under the trees, lying sprawled out like a boy, resting at
times with sweet forgetfulness of the whole world, but feeling a
dull pain whenever he remembered the stern, silent man pitching
hay in the hot sun on the torrid side of the barn.
His mother did not say anything about the quarrel; she feared to
reopen it. She talked mainly of old times in a gentle monotone of
reminiscence, while he listened, looking up into her patient face.
The heat slowly lessened as the sun sank down toward the dun
clouds rising like a more distant and majestic line of mountains
beyond the western hills. The sound of cowbells came irregularly
to the ear, and the voices and sounds of the haying fields had a
jocund, thrilling effect on the ear of the city dweller.
He was very tender. Everything conspired to make him simple,
direct, and honest.
"Mother, if you'll only forgive me for staying away so long, I'll
surely come to see you every summer."
She had nothing to forgive. She was so glad to have him there at
her feet-her great, handsome, successful boy! She could only love
him and enjoy him every moment of the precious days.
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