Chit-Chat; Nirvana; The Searchlight. Mathew Joseph Holt

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СКАЧАТЬ are many who, though they love art, literature and the other gifts and comforts of civilization, would trade all to live in a primitive mountain home; to call their time, a house of logs and a few barren fields, "my own."

      They care not for the smoke of many chimneys, or the surging crowd or the ceaseless din of commercial centers. They love the view from mountain tops, where hills peep over hills and pinnacles are clothed in clouds. They love the peace and quiet of the sheltered coves; where the timber grows verdant and strong, fern-bordered fountains burst forth to life, and the squirrels and other free things dwell. They love a home site in a secluded valley near the head of a gurgling, restless, mountain river and think to live a life of peace, dividing the glories of mountain and plain. But wherever man would rest and hide his head and heart, giant care comes with a club and the huntress misfortune finds her way with a full quiver.

      Mary, who had done no wrong and expected no punishment, when she returned home, found these two unbidden guests awaiting her. Her eyes were opened to see sorrow; which all the world knows.

      The following morning when she walked up to the school house door the children stood in groups talking in subdued tones. The little girls for the first time since the early days of the term failed to rush forward and greet her. She rang the bell; they came in slowly and rebelliously, the big boys last of all. Several of the children, among them those of one of the trustees, were absent.

      Tim Fields, a lanky, overgrown boy of sixteen, after having been reproved, continued talking to his desk-mate. When Mary told him he must behave or go home, he arose and, starting towards the door, said: "I guess I will go anyway; pap said, last night, he didn't think a convict's daughter oughter handle this here school and he was going to see the trustees and the county superintendent and git ma's sister in."

      A few minutes later, Luigi Poggi, whose seat near the window overlooked the creek, saw him on the bank throwing small boulders at a flock of geese.

      He raised his hand, and snapping his fingers to attract attention, asked, and was given permission, to go to the spring for a bucket of water. When out of sight of the teacher he whistled for Tim and walked on slowly down towards the spring, until he came to a dusty, bare spot in the path under a tree, where the boys played keeps.

      "Tim, what did you say that to teacher for; she's good to all of us?"

      "What you got to do with it, you Dago?"

      "This," and he struck Tim in the face with the empty water bucket.

      They fought in the sand path for about five minutes; when Luigi, throwing Tim face down, rubbed and bumped his head in the sand until Tim could scarcely breathe through his bleeding nose and his mouth choked with dust and sand.

      When he said, "'nuff," Luigi let him up, and returned to the school house with a dirty, scratched face, but a full bucket of spring water.

      "Luigi, what made you so long?"

      "I fell down."

      "Are you hurt?"

      "No'm."

      "Go down to the creek and wash your face."

      "Yes'm."

      On Friday morning not more than half of the school were present.

      Saturday afternoon the county superintendent called at the Saylor home and, telling Mary that several of the trustees objected to her keeping the school, asked for her resignation, which she wrote out and handed him.

      The days were pleasant and busy ones for Cornwall. He looked forward with pleasure, as to a vacation, when he should return to Straight Creek and make the survey of the Brock, Helton and Saylor properties, and for that purpose chose that delightful season in October; last harvest time for man and beast, when the corn is ripe and the nuts loosened by the early frost are showering upon the ground like manna for all. It is the beginning of Indian summer, when nature, festive and placid of mood, clothes the hills in shades of red and brown; and, fearful that man, who is inclined to overlook nearby joys and pleasures for more distant and less certain ones, might overlook the familiar hills, even though freshly painted, hides her far-off attractions with a hazy curtain.

      As the party came down over Salt Trace into the Straight Creek valley, in full accord with the perfect day and as gay of heart as the trees were gayly colored, they met Caleb going down the creek road with the old squirrel rifle, longer of barrel than the small boy.

      "Where now, hunter, just at sunset, when most hunters seek the camp?" was Cornwall's greeting.

      "I'm going down to Elhannon Howard's. Ma told me he sent pap to jail. I shore will fix him if this gun don't bust."

      "Wait a minute. That's a fine gun; let me have a look at it. It's mighty heavy. I'll ride down with you and carry it until we get within sight of the house. Has Elhannon any boys?"

      "Yes, two."

      "How old are they?"

      "John is eleven; Henry is nine."

      "John is a big, strong boy. I bet you are afraid of him. If you were not, it would be great fun to beat him up with your fists or kick him in the slats, or throw him in the creek and make him holler "'nuff." Why not save Elhannon for your dad when he gets out? He might not want you to do his fighting for him. Did he ask you to take a shot at old man Howard?"

      "No, I ha'int thought about that."

      "You didn't say you were not afraid of John Howard."

      "No, I'm not. Why?"

      "If you were not afraid of him, you would leave your gun at home and tomorrow beat him up at school."

      "I believe I will go back home and beat him up at school tomorrow; but recess will be plenty long to wait."

      "Oh, we better go on; he's older and bigger than you; you are afraid of him. You better tackle him with your gun."

      "Waste powder and ball on that chump? Not me; I'm not afraid of any of them Howards. I'm hungry; supper's about ready; let's go home. I shore hope he comes to school tomorrow."

      "Say, boy, are those your hogs? Why don't you feed them some corn?"

      "They shore am poor. Them's old man Lewis'. He lives down the crick below here. This time last year he turned them out to eat the mast. After the mast was gone he still let them run and would go out with a basket of corn and feed them. He's dumb, he can't holler. He called them by pounding with a rock on a dead snag. Since the woodpecker's came this spring them fool hawgs have nigh 'bout run themselves to death."

      "Here, boy, take your gun; there's a squirrel."

      "That's right; give her here."

      "He's a nice fat one."

      "Yes, there's plenty of nuts now."

      "I don't believe I would reload her now; there's the house."

      "Mr. Cornwall, I'll loan you my gun tomorrow and you can go hunting."

      "You better let me have her all the time we are surveying the land."

      "All right."

      Cornwall СКАЧАТЬ