Part 113 (1/2)
”To land! But it'll be time to go home, won't it? We're a great way from there.”
”We'll take a short cut home,” said Winthrop, looking round for a place to execute his purpose.
”How can you?”
”Through the woods. Wouldn't you like it? You've had no exercise to-day.”
”O I'd like it. But what will you do with the boat? leave her here? -- O in the Aegean sea, Winthrop!”
”That is what I am steering for,” said her brother. ”But I want to see the after-glow come out first.”
The 'Aegean Sea' was a little bay-like cove on the north side of Shahweetah; to which a number of little rock-heads rising out of the water, or some freak of play, had long ago given its cla.s.sic name. Winthrop pushed his boat to the sh.o.r.e there, and made her fast; and then he and Winnie waited for the after-glow. But it was long coming and the twilight grew on; and at last they left the bay and plunged into the woods. A few steps brought them to a path, which rough and untravelled as it was, their knowledge of the land enabled them easily to follow. Easily for all but their feet. Winnie's would have faltered utterly, so rough, stony, and broken it was, without her brother's strong arm; but helped and led and lifted by him, she went on joyously through the gathering gloom and under the leafy canopy that shut out all the sky and all knowledge of the after-glow, if it came. But when they had got free of the woods, and had come out upon the little open cedar field that was on the river side of Shahweetah, near home, -- there it was! Over Wut-a-qut-o's head lay a solid little long ma.s.s of cloud with its under edges close-lined with fine deep beautiful red. The opal light was all gone; the face of the heavens was all clear blue, in the gravity of twilight. Venus and the moon were there yet, almost down -- bright as ever; the moon more brilliant and bright; for now the contrast of her sharp crescent was with Wut-a-qut-o's dark shadowy side.
That was the beginning of that August boating. And often again as in old times the little skiff flew over the water, in the shadow of the mountain and the sunlight of the bay, coasting the sh.o.r.es, making acquaintance with the evergreens and oaks that skirted them and looked over into the water's edge. Where once Elizabeth had gone, Winthrop and Winnie with swifter and surer progress went; many an hour, in the early and the late sunbeams. For those weeks that they stayed, they lived in the beauties of the land, rather than according to old Karen's wish, on the fatness of it.
But she did her best; and when at last Winthrop must return to his business, and they bid her good bye and left her and Wut- a-qut-o once more, the old woman declared even while she was wiping the eyes that would not be dry, that their coming had ”done both of 'em real good -- a power of it -- and her too.”
”He hasn't his beat in _this_ country,” she said to old Anderese her brother, as she was trying to take up again her wonted walk through the house. -- ”And she, dear thing! ain't long for this world; but she's ready for a better.”
CHAPTER V.
It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be, Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall at last a log, dry, bald, and sear.
A lily of a day Is fairer far, in May.
BEN JONSON.
”What has become of the Landholms?” said Mr. Haye's young wife, one evening in the end of December.
”Confound the Landholms!” -- was Mr. Haye's answering e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, as he kicked his bootjack out of the way of his just-slippered foot.
”Why Mr. Haye!” said Rose, bridling over her netting-work.
”What have the Landholms done?”
”Done!”
”Well, what have they?”
”One of them won't pay me his dues, and the other is fighting me for trying to get them,” said Mr. Haye, looking at the evening paper with infinite disgust.
”What dues?”
”And what fighting, Mr. Haye?” said Elizabeth and Rose in a breath.
”I can't answer you if you both speak at once.”
”Well, what do you mean by fighting, Mr. Haye?”
”Fighting.”