Dixie Hart

Dixie Hart, by Will N. Harben

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dixie Hart, by Will N. Harben This
eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Dixie Hart
Author: Will N. Harben
Release Date: November 15, 2006 [EBook #19818]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIXIE
HART ***

Produced by Chuck Greif, Suzanne Lybarger and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

DIXIE HART
By WILL N. HARBEN
Author of "The Redemption of Kenneth Galt," "Gilbert Neal," "Abner
Daniel," "Pole Baker," etc.

[Illustration]
WITH FRONTISPIECE A. L. BURT COMPANY PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK Published by arrangement with Harper & Brothers
Copyright, 1910, by HARPER & BROTHERS
* * * * *
TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE RICHARD WATSON GILDER,
WHOSE KINDLY APPRECIATION OF THE CHARACTER OF
"DIXIE HART" WAS MY INSPIRATION IN WRITING THIS
BOOK
* * * * *

DIXIE HART
CHAPTER I
In a blaze of splendor the morning sun broke over the mountain,
throwing its scraggy brown bowlders, spruce-pines, thorn-bushes, and
tangled vines into impenetrable shadow. Massed at the base and along
the rocky sides were mists as dense as clouds, through the filmy upper
edges of which the yellow light shone as through a mighty prism,
dancing on the dew-coated corn-blades, cotton-plants, and already
drinking from the fresh-ploughed, mellow soil of the farm-lands which
fell away in gentle undulations to the confines of the village hard by.
"A fellow couldn't ask for a prettier day than this, no matter how
greedy he was," Alfred Henley mused as he stood in the doorway of his
barn and heard the gnawing of the horses he had just fed in the stalls
behind him. A hundred yards distant, on the main-travelled road which
ran into the village of Chester, only half a mile away, stood his house,
the eight rooms of which were divided into two equal parts by an open
veranda, in which there was a shelf for water-pails, tin wash-basins,
and a towel on a clumsy roller. A slender woman, with harsh, sharp

features, older-looking than her thirty years would have justified, and a
stiff figure disguised by few attempts at adornment, was sweeping the
veranda floor, and in chairs propped back against the weather-boarding
sat an old man and an old woman in the plainest of mountain attire.
For a moment Henley's eyes rested on the group, and he sighed deeply.
"Yes, she's my wife," he said. "I owe her every duty, and, before God,
I'll stick to my vows and do what's right by her, come what may! She
was the only woman I thought I wanted, or ever could want. They say
every cloud has a silvery lining, but my cloud was made out of
lead--and not rubbed bright at that. I reckon, if the truth must be told,
that the whole mistake was of my own making. Whatever the Creator
does for good or ill, He don't seem to bother about hitching folks
together; He leaves that job to the fools that are roped in. Well, I'm
going to stick to the helm and guide my boat the best I can. I made my
bed, and I'm as good a sleeper as the average."
Here the attention of the man, who was tall, strong, good-looking, and
about thirty-five years of age, was attracted by the dull blows of an axe
falling on wood, and, looking over the rail-fence into the yard of an
adjoining farm-house, a diminutive affair of only four rooms and a
box-like porch, he saw an attractive figure. It was that of a graceful
young woman about twenty-two years of age. Her hair, which was a
rich golden brown, and had a tendency to curl, was unbound, and as she
raised and lowered her bare arms it swung to and fro on her shapely
shoulders.
"Poor thing!" the observer exclaimed. "Here I am complaining, and just
look at her! A stout, able-bodied man that will grumble over a mistake
or two with a sight like that before his eyes ain't worth the powder and
lead that it would take to kill him. Look what she's took on her young
shoulders, and goes about with a constant smile and song on her red
lips. Yes, Dixie Hart shall be the medicine I'll take for my disease.
Whenever I feel like kicking over the traces I'll look in her direction. I'd
jump this fence and chop that wood for her now if I could do it without
old Wrinkle making comment."
Her work finished, the girl turned