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"Then there's your mammy," Caleb pleaded, and now the pen stopped. "Mother must not know." "How can we he'p her knowin', Buddy? I tell you, son, the very stones o' Paradise'll rise up to testify against us, now, and at the last great day, maybe." The frown deepened between the young man's eyes. "The old, old phantom!" he said, half to himself.
"We shall have this diphtheria with us till the rain washes it away," and one of the squatters had replied, bitterly, "Paradise'll be a cemetery an' nothin' else before the rain comes." Passing through some pine woods I heard the soughing of the tree-tops. They were entreating the rain to come to come quickly. How well I knew that soft, sibilant invocation!
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