Often the dry twigs, fallen
from the gray lower branches of the pines, crackled and snapped under
her feet, or the bushes rustled backed again to their places after she
pushed against them in passing; she hurried faster and faster, going
first through the dense woods and then out into the sunlight. Once or
twice in the open ground she stopped and knelt quickly on the soft
turf or moss to look at a little plant, while the birds which she
startled came back to their places directly, as if they had been quick
to feel that this was a friend and not an enemy, though disguised in
human shape. At last Nan reached the moss-grown fence of the farm and
leaped over it, and fairly ran to the river-shore, where she went
straight to one of the low-growing cedars, and threw herself upon it
as if it were a couch. While she sat there, breathing fast and glowing
with bright color, the river sent a fresh breeze by way of messenger,
and the old cedar held its many branches above her and around her most
comfortably, and sheltered her as it had done many times before. It
need not have envied other trees the satisfaction of climbing straight
upward in a single aspiration of growth.
And presently Nan told herself that there was nothing like a good run.
She looked to and fro along the river, and listened to the sheep-bell
which tinkled lazily in the pasture behind her. She looked over her
shoulder to see if a favorite young birch tree had suffered no harm,
for it grew close by the straight-edged path in which the cattle came
down to drink.
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