{"product_id":"2940012769763","title":"THE BLACK OPAL","description":"CHAPTER I\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA string of vehicles moved slowly out of the New Town, taking the road\u003cbr\u003eover the long, low slope of the Ridge to the plains.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNothing was moving on the wide stretch of the plains or under the fine,\u003cbr\u003eclear blue sky of early spring, except this train of shabby,\u003cbr\u003edust-covered vehicles. The road, no more than a track of wheels on\u003cbr\u003eshingly earth, wound lazily through paper daisies growing in drifts\u003cbr\u003ebeside it, and throwing a white coverlet to the dim, circling horizon.\u003cbr\u003eThe faint, dry fragrance of paper daisies was in the air; a native\u003cbr\u003ecuckoo calling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe little girl sitting beside Michael Brady in Newton's buggy glanced\u003cbr\u003ebehind her now and then. Michael was driving the old black horse from\u003cbr\u003ethe coach stables and Newton's bay mare, and Sophie and her father were\u003cbr\u003esitting beside him on the front seat. In the open back of the buggy\u003cbr\u003ebehind them lay a long box with wreaths and bunches of paper daisies and\u003cbr\u003ebudda blossoms over it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSophie knew all the people on the road, and to whom the horses and\u003cbr\u003ebuggies they had borrowed belonged. Jun Johnson and Charley Heathfield\u003cbr\u003ewere riding together in the Afghan storekeeper's sulky with his fat\u003cbr\u003ewhite pony before them. Anwah Kaked and Mrs. Kaked had the store cart\u003cbr\u003ethemselves. Watty and Mrs. Frost were on the coach. Ed. Ventry was\u003cbr\u003edriving them and had put up the second seat for George and Mrs. Woods\u003cbr\u003eand Maggie Grant. Peter Newton and Cash Wilson followed in Newton's\u003cbr\u003enewly varnished black sulky. Sam Nancarrow had given Martha M'Cready a\u003cbr\u003elift, and Pony-Fence Inglewood was driving Mrs. Archie and Mrs. Ted\u003cbr\u003eCross in Robb's old heavy buggy, with the shaggy draught mare used for\u003cbr\u003ecarting water in the township during the summer, in the shafts. The\u003cbr\u003eFlails' home-made jinker, whose body was painted a dull yellow, came\u003cbr\u003elast of the vehicles on the road. Sophie could just see Arthur Henty and\u003cbr\u003etwo or three stockmen from Warria riding through a thin haze of red\u003cbr\u003edust. But she knew men were walking two abreast behind the vehicles and\u003cbr\u003ehorsemen--Bill Grant, Archie and Ted Cross, and a score of miners from\u003cbr\u003ethe Three Mile and the Punti rush. At a curve of the road she had seen\u003cbr\u003eSnow-Shoes and Potch straggling along behind the others, the old man\u003cbr\u003estooping to pick wild flowers by the roadside, and Potch plodding on,\u003cbr\u003elooking straight in front of him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBuggies, horses, and people, they had come all the way from her home at\u003cbr\u003ethe Old Town. Almost everybody who lived on Fallen Star Ridge was there,\u003cbr\u003edriving, riding, or walking on the road across the plains behind\u003cbr\u003eMichael, her father, and herself. It was all so strange to Sophie; she\u003cbr\u003efelt so strange in the black dress she had on and which Mrs. Grant had\u003cbr\u003ecut down from one of her own. There was a black ribbon on her old yellow\u003cbr\u003estraw hat too, and she had on a pair of black cotton gloves.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSophie could not believe her mother was what they called \"dead\"; that it\u003cbr\u003ewas her mother in the box with flowers on just behind her. They had\u003cbr\u003ewalked along this very road, singing and gathering wild flowers, and had\u003cbr\u003ewaited to watch the sun set, or the moon rise, so often.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe glanced at her father. He was sitting beside her, a piece of black\u003cbr\u003estuff on his arm and a strip of the same material round his old felt\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ehat. The tears poured down his cheeks, and he shook out the large, new,\u003cbr\u003ewhite handkerchief he had bought at Chassy Robb's store that morning,\u003cbr\u003eand blew his nose every few minutes. He spoke sometimes to Michael; but\u003cbr\u003eMichael did not seem to hear him. Michael sat staring ahead, his face as\u003cbr\u003ethough cut in wood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSophie remembered Michael had been with her when Mrs. Grant said.... Her\u003cbr\u003emind went back over that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"She's dead, Michael,\" Mrs. Grant had said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd she had leaned against the window beside her mother's bed, crying.\u003cbr\u003eMichael was on his knees by the bed. Sophie had thought Michael looked\u003cbr\u003eso funny, kneeling like that, with his head in his hands, his great\u003cbr\u003eheavy boots jutting up from the floor. The light, coming in through the\u003cbr\u003ewindow near the head of the bed, shone on the nails in the soles of his\u003cbr\u003eboots. It was so strange to see these two people whom she knew quite\u003cbr\u003ewell, and whom she had only seen doing quite ordinary, everyday things,\u003cbr\u003ebehaving like this. Sophie had gazed at her mother who seemed to be\u003cbr\u003esleeping. Then Mrs. Grant had come to her, her face working, tears\u003cbr\u003estreaming down her cheeks. She had taken her hand and they had gone out\u003cbr\u003eof the room together. Sophie could not remember what Mrs. Grant had said\u003cbr\u003eto her then.... After a little while Mrs. Grant had gone back to the\u003cbr\u003eroom where her mother was, and Sophie went out to the lean-to where\u003cbr\u003ePotch was milking the goats.","brand":"SAP","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47120998629616,"sku":"2940012769763","price":0.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940012769763_p0.jpg?v=1763572004","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940012769763","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}