I fell asleep almost immediately. Old Red, our rooster, woke me at daybreak, crowing his fool head off.
It was a beautiful morning, clear and frosty. After a good breakfast, we kissed Mama goodbye and started for the store.
I’m sure there were a lot of coon hunters in the Ozarks, but on that morning none could have felt as big and important as I.
Walking along by the side of my father, I threw out my chest and tried hard to keep pace with his long strides.
He noticed and laughed. “You’ll have to grow a little bit,” he said, “before you can take steps that long.”
I didn’t say anything. I just smiled. Hearing a noise overhead, I looked up.
The gray ones were winging their way southward. I listened to their talking and wondered what they were saying.
Looking to the mountains around us, I saw that the mysterious artist who comes at night had paid us a visit.
I wondered how he could paint so many different colors in one night; red, wine, yellow, and rust.
My dogs were trotting along in front of us. I smiled at the way their hind quarters shifted to the right.
Little Ann would jump and bounce and try to get Old Dan to play, but the solemn old boy just jogged along, heedless of everything.
“You know,” Papa said, “she doesn’t even act like a hound.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색