noon
God 's finger was pointing the way now -- the big Pine was no more . The big Pine was gone . He had seen it first , one morning at daybreak , when the valley on the other side was a sea of mist that threw soft , clinging spray to the very mountain tops -- for even above the mists , that morning , its mighty head arose , sole visible proof that the earth still slept beneath . He had seen it at noon -- but little less majestic , among the oaks that stood about it ; had seen it catching the last light at sunset , clean-cut against the after-glow , and like a dark , silent , mysterious sentinel guarding the mountain pass under the moon . He had seen it giving place with sombre dignity to the passing burst of spring , had seen it green among dying autumn leaves , green in the gray of winter trees and still green in a shroud of snow -- a changeless promise that the earth must wake to life again . It had been the beacon that led him into Lonesome Cove -- the beacon that led June into the outer world . From it her flying feet had carried her into his life -- past it , the same feet had carried her out again .