The despot of Broomsedge CoveCraddock, Charles Egbert
General
The despot of Broomsedge Cove
Craddock, Charles Egbert
Mountain life -- Fiction; Tennessee -- Fiction
They paused beside a rail fence inclosing one of the cabins, where the
flare of firelight flickered out into the passage between the two rooms.
Marcella’s face had become only a vague suggestion, white in the closing
dusk, as they stood together a moment at the gate. For she had spoken at
last, offering the customary invitation to come in and stay to supper.
“I mus’ be a-travelin’ up the mounting,” he drawled in response. Then he
hesitated. “This air the fust time I ever seen ye, but I reckon ’twon’t
be the las’.”
He strode off then, and she watched him as he went with his assured gait
and singularly erect pose. A deft, swift step he had, too, and she was
presently gazing into the closing obscurity where he had disappeared.
“I’d jes’ ez lief ’twould be the las’,” she said to herself,—“I’d jes’ ez
lief.”
IV.
Locked in the stony grasp of the mountains was Broomsedge Cove. Rugged
with sudden deep depressions and abrupt declivities, heavily wooded here
and anon broken by crags and defying cultivation, this limited basin was
all unlike the neighboring coves, those fair nooks of the ranges, fertile
and smiling, and level as a floor. The road, dry in summer, was the bed
of a stream in winter, and the denizens of Broomsedge then cared little
to rove abroad. Certain stretches of abandoned land, once cultivated, had
given the place its name, and down their slopes flourished the graceless
broomsedge,—pest, poverty-bitten, blight. It seemed to seek the manner of
the worthier growths, to bear itself like wheat, or rye, or oats; it wore
the semblance of a crop, as it shared with them the bounty of the sun and
the benediction of the rain. It waved in the wind, half defiant, half
forlorn. Wherever it encroached upon the fields, the grace of utility and
the guerdon of labor were gone, and this flout of nature, this perversity
of herbage, prospered unwelcome in their stead. But Broomsedge Cove could
still boast a considerable acreage of grain, fair and thrifty enough, the
unripe green tint contrasting with the red-brown tones of the sedge.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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