Back of these figures were other figures, long forgotten but now sharply
remembered--farm girls who had come to work by the day; tramps who had been
fed at the kitchen door; young farm hands who suddenly disappeared from the
routine of the farm's life and were never seen again, a young man with a
red bandana handkerchief about his neck who had thrown her a kiss as she
stood with her face pressed against a window.
Once a high school girl from town had come to spend the night with Clara.
After the evening meal the two girls walked into the kitchen and stood by a
window, looking out. Something had happened within them. Moved by a common
impulse they went outside and walked for a long way under the stars along
the silent country roads. They came to a field where men were burning
brush. Where there had been a forest there was now only a stump field and
the figures of the men carrying armloads of the dry branches of trees and
throwing them on the fire. The fire made a great splash of color in the
gathering darkness and for some obscure reason both girls were deeply moved
by the sight, sound, and perfume of the night. The figures of the men
seemed to dance back and forth in the light. Instinctively Clara turned her
face upward and looked at the stars. She was conscious of them and of their
beauty and the wide sweeping beauty of night as she had never been before.
A wind began to sing in the trees of a distant forest, dimly seen far away
across fields.
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