The Laughing Mill, and Other StoriesHawthorne, Julian
Philosophy
The Laughing Mill, and Other Stories
Hawthorne, Julian
American fiction -- 19th century
"'Pretty soon, Jack,' says he again, 'ye must help me carry her to the
mill this morning, before the village folks are astir; and don't tell
them that she's there, or whence she came. She's my own, and her past is
all gone for ever; God has sent her to me for my own. I shall make her
love me as I now love her, and no other shall have any part in her. I
will be to her all that she has lost, and more; and I will cherish her
always and make her happy. And when the village folks find out that I
have her (as soon of course they must), they shall be told that she is
a good fairy come to bring me fortune and delight. I'd say that she rose
up one morning out of the deep clear pool just above the mill-race; and
that though appearing as a human being, she is in very truth not mortal,
but has consented to live with me so long as I continue worthy of
her companionship. But when the time comes--which God forbid it ever
should!--that I prove unworthy, then shall she vanish back to her
natural abode, and I be more desolate than before she came. And as
for this necklace,' says he, 'it is a talisman; and should fate ever
separate us, yet this be left me, 'twill be a pledge that'...."
"What's happened?"
IV.
The yarn broke off abruptly enough. Poyntz and I had both started to our
feet, our eyes and ears straining towards the mill-stream, where little
Peter had during the last hour been quietly fishing. The sound of a
quick scramble, a heavy plunge, and simultaneously a lusty scream, had
sharply broken the repose of the summer afternoon.
"'Tis the brat has toppled in!" cried Poyntz, the sunburnt ruddiness of
his complexion turning to a tawny sallow hue. "He can't swim; haste ye
lower down, sir; I'll to the pool; but if as he's carried over the fall,
ye'll stop him at the rapid."
We had already set off on a run towards the bank, and we now separated
in accordance with Poyntz's suggestion. I saw no more of the latter,
being wholly absorbed in carrying out my part of the programme; and in a
few moments I was standing panting beside the rushing water, trying to
select the best point from which to take my plunge. Just then I heard a
swift rustling step behind me, and there was Agatha, her lovely face and
eyes aglow with terrified excitement. Then it passed through my mind
that she had always evinced a particular tenderness and affection for
poor little Peter; and at the thought I must confess that my resolve to
save him at all risks became tenfold as strong as it had been before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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