J. EAKINS
It was early morning in the Bluegrass. The triumphant sun was driving the
white mist before it from wood and rolling meadow-land, rousing the drowsy
cattle from their tranquil dreams and quickening into fuller life all the
inhabitants of that favored region, from the warlike woodpecker with his
head of flame high up in the naked tree-top to the timid ground-squirrel
flitting along the graystone fences. It glorified with splendid
impartiality the apple blossoms in the orchards and the vagabond blackberry
bushes blooming by the roadside; and then, with many a mile of smiling
pastures in its victorious wake, it burst over the low rampart of stable
roofs encircling the old Lexington race-course, and, after a hasty glimpse
at the horses speeding around the track and the black boys singing and
slouching from stall to stall with buckets of water on their heads, it
rushed impetuously into an old-fashioned, deep-waisted family barouche
beside one of the stables, and shone full upon a slender, girlish figure
within. It wasted no time upon a purple-faced old gentleman beside her, nor
upon two young gentlemen on the seat opposite, but rested with bold and
ardent admiration upon the young girl's face, touching her cheeks with a
color as delicate as the apple blossoms in the orchards, and weaving into
her rich brown hair the red gold of its own beams.
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