Just as they turned to leave, I heard Papa murmur in a low voice, “Wonderful indeed is the work of our Lord.”
As I stood looking at the two graves, I noticed things I hadn’t seen before.
Wild violets, rooster heads, and mountain daisies had completely covered the two little mounds.
A summer breeze gushed down from the rugged hills.
I felt its warm caress as it fanned my face. It hummed a tune in the underbrush and rustled the leaves on the huge red oak.
The red fern wavered and danced to the music of the hills.
Taking off my cap, I bowed my head. In a choking voice, I said, “Good-bye, Old Dan and Little Ann.
I’ll never forget you; and this I know—if God made room in heaven for all good dogs, I know He made a special place for you.”
With a heavy heart, I turned and walked away. I knew that as long as I lived I’d never forget the two little graves and the sacred red fern.
Not far from our home, the road wound its way up and over a hill.
At the top Papa stopped the team. We all stood up and looked back. It was a beautiful sight, one I’ll never forget.
As I stood and looked at the home of my birth, it looked sad and lonely.
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