Changing Winds: A NovelErvine, St. John G. (St. John Greer)
General
Changing Winds: A Novel
Ervine, St. John G. (St. John Greer)
Fiction
When the dance was over, he took her to her uncle's farm. Marsh,
overcome by headache, had gone home before the dance was ended, and
Henry felt glad of this. He waited in the porch of the schoolhouse while
Sheila put on her coat and wrap, and wondered why his feeling for her
was so different from his feeling for Mary Graham, and while he
wondered, she came to him, gathering up her skirts.
"Isn't the sky lovely?" she said, glancing up at the stars, as they
walked out of the school-yard into the road.
He glanced up too, but did not answer.
"Millions an' millions of them," she said. "You'd wonder the sky 'ud
hold them all!"
"Yes," he said.
"Many's a time I wonder about the stars," she went on. "Do you ever
wonder about them?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you think there's people in them, the same as there is on the
earth?"
"I don't know," he answered.
"This is a star, too, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yes."
"An' shines just like them does?"
"Yes, I think so!"
"That's quare!" She walked on for a few yards without speaking, and her
eyes were fixed steadily on the starry fields. "It's funny," she said,
"to think mebbe there's people up there lookin' at us an' them mebbe
thinkin' about this place what we're thinkin' of them. Wouldn't you love
to be able to fly up to one of them an' just see if it's true?..."
He laughed at her and she laughed in response. "I'm talkin' blether,"
she said, stumbling over a stone in the road.
"Mind!" he warned her, putting out his hand to steady her.
"I was nearly down that time," she said. "These roads is awful in the
dark ... you can't see where you're goin' or what's in the way!"
"No," he replied.
Her arms were crooked because she was holding her skirts about her
ankles, and as she stumbled against him a second time, he put out his
hand and caught hold of her arm, and this time he did not withdraw it.
He slipped his arm inside hers and drew her close to him, and so they
walked on in the starlight up the rough road that led to Matthew
Hamilton's farm.
"It's quaren late," she said, moving nearer to him.
"Yes," he answered.
There was a rustle in the trees as the night wind blew through the
branches, and they could hear the silken murmur of the corn as it bent
before the breeze. Now and then there was a flutter of wings in a hedge
as they passed by, and the low murmurs of cattle and sheep came from the
fields.
"I wish it were next Thursday," he said.
"So do I," she replied.
"I wish we could have two dancing-classes in the week instead of one!"
"So do I," she said.
"But we can't manage that," he continued. "You see we have two nights
for the Language class!..."
"You could have one night for the Language class," she said, "and two
nights for dancing!"
"I don't think Marsh would like that," he answered.
They walked on for a while, thinking of what Marsh would say, and then
she broke the silence.
"I don't see the good of them oul' language classes," she said.
"Don't you?"
"No. I'd rather be dancin' any day!..."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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