Page:Hopkinson Smith--Tom Grogan.djvu/149

 “Ah, Mees Jan, I so sorry! Let Carl see it,” he said, his voice melting. “I tak' ta brier out,” pushing back the tangled vines of last year to bring himself nearer.

The clouds sailed on. The sparrow stood, on its tallest toes and twisted its little neck.

“Oh, please do, Carl, it hurts so!” she said, laying her little round hand in the big, strong, horny palm that had held the life-line the night of the wreck.

The song-sparrow clung to the swaying top of a mullein-stalk near by, and poured out a strong, swelling, joyous song that well-nigh split its throat.

When Tom called Jennie, half an hour later, she and Carl were still talking across the fence.