“Wonder if he don’t calculate to sleep to hum,” thought the landlord,
replying at the same instant, “Yes, sir, tip-top accommodations. Hain’t
more’n tew beds in any room, and nowadays we allers has a wash-bowl and
pitcher; don’t go to the sink as we used to when you lived round here.”
With a gesture of impatience Mr. Livingstone left the house and started
up the mountain road, where ’Lena still kept her watch. Oh, how that
walk recalled to him the memories of other days, which came thronging
about him as one by one familiar way-marks appeared, reminding him of
his childhood, when he roamed over that mountain-side with those who
were now scattered far and wide, some on the deep, blue sea, some at
the distant west, and others far away across the dark river of death.
He had mingled much with the world since last he had traversed that
road, and his heart had grown callous and indifferent, but he was not
entirely hardened, and when at the “turn” in the road, he came suddenly
upon the tall walnut tree, on whose shaggy bark his name was carved,
together with that of another—a maiden—he started as if smitten with a
heavy blow, and dashing a tear from his eye he exclaimed “Oh that I
were a boy again!”
From her seat on the mossy rock ’Lena had been watching him. She was
very ardent and impulsive, strong in her likes and dislikes, but quite
ready to change the latter if she saw any indications of improvement in
the person disliked. For her uncle she had conceived a great aversion,
and when she saw him approaching, thrusting aside the thistles and
dandelions with his gold-headed cane, she mimicked his motions,
wondering “if he didn’t feel big because he wore a large gold chain
dangling from his jacket pocket.”
But when she saw his emotions beneath the walnut tree, her opinion
suddenly changed. “A very bad man wouldn’t cry,” she thought, and
springing to his side, she grasped his hand, exclaiming, “I know you
are my Uncle John, and I’m real glad you’ve come. Granny thought you
never would, and grandpa asks for you all the time.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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