The Light in the Clearing: A Tale of the North Country in the Time of Silas WrightBacheller, Irving
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The Light in the Clearing: A Tale of the North Country in the Time of Silas Wright
Bacheller, Irving
New York (State) -- Fiction; Wright, Silas, 1795-1847 -- Fiction
"'She's my watch hen,' says Nobody. 'Guards the house and lays eggs for
me--the darlin'! Sure, I've a wonderful farm up here in the
air--millions o' acres, and the flowers and the tops o' the trees and
the gold mines o' the sky are in it. The flowers are my cattle and the
bees are my hired men. Do ye see 'em milkin' this big herd o'
apple-blossoms? My hired men carry their milk away to the hollow trees
and churn it into honey. There's towers and towers of it in the land o'
Nowhere. If it wasn't for Nowhere your country would be as dark as a
pocket and as dry as dust--sure it would. Somewhere must be next to
Nowhere--or it wouldn't be anywhere, I'm thinkin'. All the light and
rain and beauty o' the world come out o' Nowhere--don't they? We have
the widest ocean up here with wonderful ships. I call it God's ferry. Ye
see, Nowhere is not to be looked down upon just because ye don't find it
in Mary's geography. There's lots o' things ye don't know, man. I'm one
o' them. What do ye think o' me?'
"'Sure, I like ye,' says I.
"'Lucky man!' says he. 'Everybody must learn to like me an' play with me
as the children do. I can get along with the little folks, but it's hard
to teach men how to play with me--God pity them! They forget how to
believe. I am the guide to paradise and unless ye become as a little
child I can not lead ye.'
"He ran to the edge o' the tree roof and took hold o' the end of a long
spider's rope hangin' down in the air. In a jiffy he swung clear o' the
tree and climbed, hand over hand, until he had gone awa-a-a-a-y out o'
sight in the sky."
* * * * *
"Couldn't anybody do that?" said little John.
"I didn't say they could--did I? ye unbeliever!" said the schoolmaster
as he rose and led us in to the supper table. "I said Nobody did it."
We got him to tell this little tale over and over again in the days that
followed, and many times since then that impersonal and mysterious guide
of the schoolmaster's fancy has led me to paradise.
After supper he got out his boxing-gloves and gave me a lesson in the
art of self-defense, in which, I was soon to learn, he was highly
accomplished, for we had a few rounds together every day after that. He
keenly enjoyed this form of exercise and I soon began to. My capacity
for taking punishment without flinching grew apace and before long I got
the knack of countering and that pleased him more even than my work in
school, I have sometimes thought.
"God bless ye, boy!" he exclaimed one day after I had landed heavily on
his cheek, "ye've a nice way o' sneakin' in with yer right. I've a
notion ye may find it useful some day."
I wondered a little why he should say that, and while I was wondering he
felled me with a stinging blow on my nose.
"Ah, my lad--there's the best thing I have seen ye do--get up an' come
back with no mad in ye," he said as he gave me his hand.
One day the schoolmaster called the older boys to the front seats in his
room and I among them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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