Page:McClure's Magazine v10 no3 to v11 no2.djvu/85

 Her arms were near to breaking, and tears and perspiration mingled in the hollows of her cheeks, when at last she reached the cornfield and stumbled in between the tall, green rows. She dropped the blankets and almost fell upon them in her exhaustion. The bottle and pie were allowed to shift for themselves, and the latter poured out the last remnant of its crimson juice at the roots of a cornhill.

"WHY, MIS' SPENCER, WHAT'S THE MATTER?"

Presently Mrs. Spencer sat up and listened again. She could no longer hear the sound of wheels, nor any sound save the rustling of the millions of corn-blades in the great field about her, and the voice of a meadow lark singing from the top of a tall, charred stump near by. She sat still and rested a little while longer; then she stood up and tried to see the house; but the tasseled tops of the corn were two feet above her head. She made her way cautiously to the outer row, and peered out