She was exceedingly tenacious of affection.
June had almost passed and summer lay upon the lonely land. Such perfect
and wonderful weather had never before been Carley's experience. The dawns
broke cool, fresh, fragrant, sweet, and rosy, with a breeze that seemed of
heaven rather than earth, and the air seemed tremulously full of the murmur
of falling water and the melody of mocking birds. At the solemn noontides
the great white sun glared down hot--so hot that t burned the skin, yet
strangely was a pleasant burn. The waning afternoons were Carley's especial
torment, when it seemed the sounds and winds of the day were tiring, and
all things were seeking repose, and life must soften to an unthinking
happiness. These hours troubled Carley because she wanted them to last, and
because she knew for her this changing and transforming time could not
last. So long as she did not think she was satisfied.
Maples and sycamores and oaks were in full foliage, and their bright greens
contrasted softly with the dark shine of the pines. Through the spaces
between brown tree trunks and the white-spotted holes of the sycamores
gleamed the amber water of the creek. Always there was murmur of little
rills and the musical dash of little rapids.
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