New England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Women -- New England -- Fiction
Now the brook, during its passage through the valley field, was
remarkable for nothing but a rare infirmity of purpose, which would
never let it keep one course for many rods together. It twisted and
curled about, making many little meadow promontories on one side and
the other; hurrying along with a soft, sweet gurgle that sounded fresh,
even under the heat of the summer sun. It was a hot afternoon, as Mrs.
Starling had said; and the two excursionists were fain to take it
gently and to make as straight a course across the fields as keeping on
one side of the brook left possible. They could not cross it. The
stream was not large, yet quite too broad for a jump; and not deep, yet
deep enough to cover its stony bed and leave no crossing stones. So
sometimes along the border of the brook, where a fringe of long grass
had been left by the mowers' scythes, rank and tangled; sometimes
striking across from bend to bend over the meadow, where no kindly
trees stood to shade them, the two went--on a hunt, as Mr. Knowlton
said, after pretty things.
After a mile or more of this walking, the scenery changed. Mown fields,
hot and fragrant, were left behind; almost suddenly they entered the
hills, where the brook issued from them; and then they began a slower
tracking of its course back among the rocks and woods of a dell which
soon grew close and wild. The sides of the dell became higher; the bed
of the stream more steep and rough; the canopy of trees closed in
overhead, and showed the blue through only in broken patches. The
clothing of the hill-sides was elegant and exquisite; oaks, and firs,
and hemlocks, with slender birches and maples, lining the ravine; and
under them a free growth of ferns, and fresh beds of moss, and lovely
lichens covered the rocks and dressed the ground. The stream rattled
along at the bottom; foaming over the stones and leaping down the
rocks; making the still, deep pools where the fish love to lie; and in
its way executing a succession of cascades and tiny waterfalls that
wanted no picturesque element except magnitude. And a good imagination
can supply that.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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