As grandfather had predicted, Mrs. Shimerda
never saw the roads going over his head. The
road from the north curved a little to the east
just there, and the road from the west swung
out a little to the south; so that the grave,
with its tall red grass that was never mowed,
was like a little island; and at twilight, under
a new moon or the clear evening star, the
dusty roads used to look like soft gray rivers
flowing past it. I never came upon the place
without emotion, and in all that country it
was the spot most dear to me. I loved the dim
superstition, the propitiatory intent, that had
put the grave there; and still more I loved
the spirit that could not carry out the sen-
tence -- the error from the surveyed lines, the
clemency of the soft earth roads along which
the home-coming wagons rattled after sunset.
Never a tired driver passed the wooden cross,
I am sure, without wishing well to the sleeper.

[[136]]

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v?