She had heard the trader utter it many times. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. Journeying blindly half way across the world, this man had found his quarry. She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment.
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