The news spread swiftly. Within half an hour the big superintendent was
tumbling his things from the cottage into the road, for his own family
was coming, he explained to Jason's mother, and he needed a larger
house anyway. And so Babe Honeycutt swung twice down the spur on the
other side and up again with Mavis's worldly goods on his great
shoulders, while inside the cottage Martha Hawn and the old circuit
rider's wife were as joyously busy as bees. On his last trip Mavis and
Jason followed, and on top of the spur Babe stopped, cocked his ear,
and listened. Coming on a slow breeze up the ravine from the river far
below was the long mellow blast of a horn.
"'I God," laughed Babe triumphantly, "ole Jason's already heerd it."
And, indeed, within half an hour word came that the old man must have
the infair at his house that night, and already to all who could hear
he had blown welcome on the wind.
So, at dusk, when Jason, on the circuit rider's old nag, rode through
camp with Mavis on a pillion behind in laughing acceptance of the old
pioneer custom, women and children waved at them from doorways and the
miners swung their hats and cheered them as they passed. There was an
old-fashioned gathering at the old Hawn home that night. Old Aaron and
young Aaron and many Honeycutts were there; the house was thronged,
fiddles played old tunes for nimble feet, and Hawns and Honeycutts ate
and drank and made merry until the morning sun fanned its flames above
the sombre hills.
But before midnight Jason and Mavis fared forth pillion-fashion again.
Only, Jason too rode sidewise every now and then that he might clasp
her with one arm and kiss her again and again under the smiling old
moon. Through the lights and noise of the mighty industry that he would
direct, they passed and climbed on.
Soon only lights showed that their grimy little working world was
below. Soon they stood on the porch of their own little home. To them
there the mighty on-sweeping hills sent back their own peace,
God-guarded and never to be menaced by the hand of man. And there,
clasped in each other's arms, their spirits rushed together, and with
the spiral of smoke from their own hearthstones, went upward.
XLVIII
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account