The best stories of Sarah Orne Jewett, Volume 2 (of 2)Jewett, Sarah Orne
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The best stories of Sarah Orne Jewett, Volume 2 (of 2)
Jewett, Sarah Orne
American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
Half a mile from home, at the farther edge of the woods, where the land
was highest, a great pine-tree stood, the last of its generation.
Whether it was left for a boundary mark, or for what reason, no one
could say; the woodchoppers who had felled its mates were dead and gone
long ago, and a whole forest of sturdy trees, pines and oaks and maples,
had grown again. But the stately head of this old pine towered above
them all and made a landmark for sea and shore miles and miles away.
Sylvia knew it well. She had always believed that whoever climbed to the
top of it could see the ocean; and the little girl had often laid her
hand on the great rough trunk and looked up wistfully at those dark
boughs that the wind always stirred, no matter how hot and still the air
might be below. Now she thought of the tree with a new excitement, for
why, if one climbed it at break of day, could not one see all the world,
and easily discover whence the white heron flew, and mark the place, and
find the hidden nest?
What a spirit of adventure, what wild ambition! What fancied triumph and
delight and glory for the later morning when she could make known the
secret! It was almost too real and too great for the childish heart to
bear.
All night the door of the little house stood open, and the whippoorwills
came and sang upon the very step. The young sportsman and his old
hostess were sound asleep, but Sylvia’s great design kept her broad
awake and watching. She forgot to think of sleep. The short summer night
seemed as long as the winter darkness, and at last when the
whippoorwills ceased, and she was afraid the morning would after all
come too soon, she stole out of the house and followed the pasture path
through the woods, hastening toward the open ground beyond, listening
with a sense of comfort and companionship to the drowsy twitter of a
half-awakened bird, whose perch she had jarred in passing. Alas, if the
great wave of human interest which flooded for the first time this dull
little life should sweep away the satisfactions of an existence heart to
heart with nature and the dumb life of the forest!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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