where could he turn? A root cannot dig itself up and flee from its mother earth simply because it rebels against the course of its life. Thus, Jethro, too, like a root had no source of life other than the soil.
Suddenly the surge of his thoughts was stilled. He listened intently. Within the earth he imagined he could hear a faint, soft murmuring. It was as though there were voices whispering under the frozen loam. What caused that odd murmuring? Was it pure fancy? Or was he listening to the distant murmurings of spring from far down beneath the breast of the earth? Were the buds commencing to yawn and awaken? Were they turning in their sleep and murmuring? Jethro knew not, nor did he care. At least the faint sounds allayed the tumult in his soul. They changed the trend of his thoughts that were driving him mad.
And as he listened, his eyes closed and he slept. And now soft veils of cloud commenced to drift across the sky. Silently like sentinels
they marched majestically into place. At last
