Beauty and the Beast, and Tales of HomeTaylor, Bayard
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Beauty and the Beast, and Tales of Home
Taylor, Bayard
Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
They rose and walked across the meadow to the house. Jacob had quite
forgotten the events of the evening in the new prospect suddenly opened
to him, which filled him with a wonderful confusion of fear and desire.
His father said nothing more. They entered the lonely house together at
midnight, and went to their beds; but Jacob slept very little.
Six days afterwards he left home, on a sparkling June morning, with
a small bundle tied in a yellow silk handkerchief under his arm. His
father had furnished him with the promised money, but had positively
refused to tell him what road he should take, or what plan of action he
should adopt. The only stipulation was that his absence from home should
not be less than a month.
After he had passed the wood and reached the highway which followed
the course of the brook, he paused to consider which course to take.
Southward the road led past Pardon's, and he longed to see his only
friends once more before encountering untried hazards; but the village
was beyond, and he had no courage to walk through its one long street
with a bundle, denoting a journey, under his arm. Northward he would
have to pass the mill and blacksmith's shop at the cross-roads. Then he
remembered that he might easily wade the stream at a point where it was
shallow, and keep in the shelter of the woods on the opposite hill until
he struck the road farther on, and in that direction two or three miles
would take him into a neighborhood where he was not known.
Once in the woods, an exquisite sense of freedom came upon him. There
was nothing mocking in the soft, graceful stir of the expanded foliage,
in the twittering of the unfrightened birds, or the scampering of the
squirrels, over the rustling carpet of dead leaves. He lay down upon the
moss under a spreading beech-tree and tried to think; but the thoughts
would not come. He could not even clearly recall the keen troubles and
mortifications he had endured: all things were so peaceful and beautiful
that a portion of their peace and beauty fell upon men and invested them
with a more kindly character.
Towards noon Jacob found himself beyond the limited geography of his
life. The first man he encountered was a stranger, who greeted him with
a hearty and respectful “How do you do, sir?”
“Perhaps,” thought Jacob, “I am not so very different from other people,
if I only thought so myself.”
At noon, he stopped at a farm-house by the roadside to get a drink of
water. A pleasant woman, who came from the door at that moment with a
pitcher, allowed him to lower the bucket and haul it up dripping with
precious coolness. She looked upon him with good-will, for he had
allowed her to see his eyes, and something in their honest, appealing
expression went to her heart.
“We're going to have dinner in five minutes,” said she; “won't you stay
and have something?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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