Sometimes I'd
barbecue a venison steak and--well, 'twas our playhouse, McTavish,
and I who am no longer young--I who never played until I met her--I--
I'm a bit foolish, I fear, but I found rest and comfort here,
McTavish, even before I met her, and I'm thinking I'll have to come
here often for the same. She--she was a very superior woman,
McTavish--very superior. Ah, man, the soul of her! I cannot bear that
her body should rest in Sequoia cemetery, along with the rag tag and
bobtail o' the town. She was like this sunbeam, McTavish. She--she--"
"Aye," murmured McTavish huskily. "I ken. Ye wouldna gie her a common
or a public spot in which to wait for ye. An' ye'll be shuttin' down
the mill an' loggin'-camps an' layin' off the hands in her honour for
a bit?"
"Until after the funeral, McTavish. And tell your men they'll be paid
for the lost time. That will be all, lad."
When McTavish was gone, John Cardigan sat down on a small sugar-pine
windfall, his head held slightly to one side while he listened to
that which in the redwoods is not sound but rather the absence of it.
And as he listened, he absorbed a subtle comfort from those huge
brown trees, so emblematic of immortality; in the thought he grew
closer to his Maker, and presently found that peace which he sought.
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