Chickens -- Fiction; Farms -- Fiction; World War, 1914-1918 -- United States -- Fiction
again chanted Pan, and it surely wasn't imagination that made me think that
the red crests ruffled in the wind. The light in his eyes was unlike
anything I had ever seen; it smouldered and flamed like the embers under
the pot beside the rock. It drew me until the sleeve of my smock brushed
his sleeve of gray flannel. His arms hovered, but didn't quite enclose me.
"And the way I am going to feel about all the little chickens out of the
incubator," I added slowly as if the admission was being drawn out of me.
Still the arms hovered, the crests ruffled, and the eyes searched down
into the depths of me, which had so lately been plowed and harrowed and
sown with a new and productive flower.
"And the old twin fathers," I added almost begrudgingly, as I cast him my
last treasure.
Then with a laugh that I know was a line-reproduction descended from the
one that Adam gave when he first recognized Eve, Pan folded me into his
arms, laid his red head on my breast, and held up his lips to mine with a
"love-thirst" that it took me more than a long minute to slack to the point
of words.
"I knew there was one earth woman due to develop at the first decade of
this century, and I've found her," Pan fluted softly as he in turn took me
on his breast and pressed his russet cheek against the tan of mine. "I'm
going to take her off into the woods and then in a generation salvation for
the nation will come forth from the forest."
"My word is given to the Golden Bird to see his progeny safe into the
world, and I must do that before--" but my words ended in a laugh as I
slipped out of Pan's arms and sprang to my feet and away from him.
"We'll keep that faith with Mr. Bird to-night, and then I can take you with
me before daylight," said Pan as he collected his Romney bundle with his
left hand and me with his right and began to pad up the path from the
spring-house towards the barn under a shower of the white locust-blossoms,
which were giving forth their last breath of perfume in a gorgeous volume.
"To-night?" I asked from the hollow between his breast and his arm where I
was fitted and held steadily so that my steps seemed to be his steps and
the breath of my lungs to come from his.
"Yes; most of the eggs were pipped when I went in the barn to put away the
tools," answered Adam, with very much less excitement than the occasion
called for.
"Oh, why--why didn't you tell me?" I demanded as I came out of the first
half of a kiss and before I retired into the last half.
"Too hungry--had to be fed before they got to eating at your heart,"
answered Pan in a way that made me know that he meant me and not the
dandelion greens and brown bread.
"You are joking me; they are not due until day after to-morrow," I said as
I took my lips away and began to hurry us both towards the barn.
"All April hatches are from two to three days early," was Adam's prosaic
and instructive answer that cut the last kiss short as we entered the
barn-door.
CHAPTER VIII
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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