Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/143

 Rogers grinned weakly and stared in the darkness, and for a moment he again had that terrible sense of aloneness which had oppressed him when he had left his old home and his horse. He hit his closed fist, that had brought his horse revenge, against the palm of his open hand. He could almost feel the sticky blood on it again. He didn't like to fight and he hadn't meant to hit so hard, but he wasn't the type to allow anyone hurting anything he loved. He remembered his horse now; saw its large brown glassy eyes and hoped the renters would take good care of him. Blackie was a good horse, but he was scared of strangers on his back, especially if they wore spurs. He never had … never had to. Yes, he was going to miss Blackie; going to miss the long rides in the woods, the good smell around the farm; his swimming hole in the creek.

The creek lingered, all drenched in greens and blues. He had swum in the beautiful pool where stately trees dripped moss and colored leaves to the ground and water, and somehow that life was sacred; it became beautiful and important to him now.

Now, in his dark room, Glenn Rogers was carried over the plowed fields by his faithful horse; over the grass covered earth of his father's farm which stretched to the majestic trees in the woods where lurked squirrels and strange moving insects.

Gaylord must see all this; all this beauty that had been his. He even visualized Gaylord's hands around his waist while his clutched the leather reins; both astride his galloping black horse, feeling the sweet fresh air on their face, the cool caress of the pool on their flesh. No … That was only a dream … Gaylord wasn't the type to like those things. And with this thought, that glittering pool was lost; his childhood was over; or rather, that boy there in the water had been subtly changed and lost by a veil of natural changes.

That first day at the new school burst into his mind. That morning he had gone to see the principal demanded to be remembered. It had taken about fifteen minutes before he had gathered enough courage to knock. A voice had asked him to come in, and with a lump in his throat, he had entered the principal's office and asked to be enrolled.

Again he remembered the principal saying: "Glenn, country schools are a lot different from ours and it might take a little time for you to get used to us. New teachers, new friends and new methods 133