Page:Frank Owen - Rare Earth, 1931.djvu/14



T was spring in Galvey. Almost overnight the entire countryside had burst into bloom. Curtains of green had descended, rich warm rugs of green had been unrolled and the trees loomed out pungently as though hung with silken tapestries. Overhead the sky was a wondrous blue. The yellow sun glowed down warmly. And the blue of the sky and the yellow of the sun blended to form that magic covering of soft green splendor.

But for Scobee Trent sitting by his attic window there was no spring. The coldness of winter still remained. He could not see the glory of the awakening world about him. For Scobee did not live in Galvey. He dwelt in a Sad Country, a country where there was no