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Updated: May 27, 2025
She swept from the room, small, proud, forceful; while John threw himself upon a chair and buried his head in his hands. Dixie Gray Eagle was trotting briskly along the road over which another hand had guided him so often, the Oakwood carriage-way. On his back sat Friedrich, erectly vigorous, singing for the trees' benefit, "Oh, I wees' I was in Deexie, Look away, look away!
In Deexie Land I take my stand, To live and die in Deexie." The aspen fluttered its yellow leaves in applause, and the sourwood threw at him by the breeze's hand a cluster of its scarlet foliage. The mouse-gray goldenrod nodded approval of his mood, and the oak-trees swung their yet green boughs in sympathy with his light-hearted onward rush.
"Oh, I wees' I was in the land of cotton, The good old times are not for-rgotten, Look away, look away, look away, Deexie Land." Out of a Clear Sky There came to von Rittenheim as he stabled his mule, with many a tender pat upon his coarse coat, one of those times of spiritual insight when we see ourselves as after a long absence we look with scrutiny upon once familiar objects.
"Of course I knew it was you." "Oh, Sydney, dear Sydney, did your heart tell you that your lover was on the r-road?" The girl blushed hotly at this bold speech, but she declined to be sentimental. "Not at all," she said. "There was other evidence. Who else could sing like you, 'Oh, I wees' I was in Deexie'?"
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