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Schreiner, Olive, 1855-1920

"The Story of an African Farm, a novel"

Well to
live long and see the new time breaking. Well to live long; life is sweet,
sweet, sweet! In his breast pocket, where of old the broken slate used to
be, there was now a little dancing shoe of his friend who was sleeping. He
could feel it when he folded his arm tight against his breast; and that was
well also. He drew his hat lower over his eyes and sat so motionless that
the chickens thought he was asleep, and gathered closer around him. One
even ventured to peck at his boot, but he ran away quickly. Tiny, yellow
fellow that he was, he knew that men were dangerous; even sleeping they
might awake. But Waldo did not sleep, and coming back from his sunshiny
dream, stretched out his hand for the tiny thing to mount. But the chicken
eyed the hand, and then ran off to hide under its mother's wing, and from
beneath it it sometimes put out its round head to peep at the great figure
sitting there. Presently its brothers ran off after a little white moth
and it ran out to join them; and when the moth fluttered away over their
heads they stood looking up disappointed, and then ran back to their
mother.
Waldo through his half-closed eyes looked at them. Thinking, fearing,
craving, those tiny sparks of brother life, what were they, so real there
in that old yard on that sunshiny afternoon? A few years--where would they
be? Strange little brother spirits! He stretched his hand toward them,
for his heart went out to them; but not one of the little creatures came
nearer him, and he watched them gravely for a time; then he smiled, and
began muttering to himself after his old fashion.


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