Page:Scarlet Sister Mary (1928).pdf/231

 and crimson buckeye blooms. Nothing changed here. The same old banks of shiny-leaved laurel sloped down to patches of blue and white violets and beds of white lilies. Birds sang everywhere, and the tall pines sighed as they dropped brown needles over their feet.

When a flock of mosquitoes hummed in front of Mary's eyes, she brushed them away with a smile and told them to go suck some juice out of the tender leaves and let her blood alone. In the distance a wild turkey hen was yelping, boldly calling for a mate. All the gobblers went off by themselves in the winter, leaving their women alone, but the first spring yelp sent them flying to begin their courting in earnest. Gobblers that had been good friends all winter would fall out and fight, the strongest ones taking the hens from the others. That same hen's calling would start trouble.

Turkeys have strange ways, but perhaps no stranger than people. Men are the queerest of all God's creatures. Poor fools, not one of them worth a headache, or a tear-drop, and yet, worthless as they are, by means of them her own life had become full and her heart had grown warm and glad again.

She was even with July at last, no matter where he was, or what he was doing. Her heart