It was still half dark, and the big-eyed poplars watched them suspiciously as they hurried down to the road.

Every branch and twig was covered with ice, and the snow crackled under their feet.
"I 'spec' it's gwine be summer-time where you gwine at, Miss Rufe," said Rachel.
"I don't care," cried Ruth.

"I don't want to be anywhere in the world except right here." "Dey're comin'," announced Rachel.

"I hear de hosses." Ruth leaned across the top bar of the gate, her figure enveloped in her long coat, and her white tam a bright spot in the half-light.
On came the riders, three abreast.
"Dat's him in de middle," whispered Rachel, excitedly; "next to de sheriff.

I's s'prised dey didn't swing him up--I shorely is.