Frontier and pioneer life -- Southern States -- Fiction; Love stories; Mountain people -- Southern States -- Fiction
The shed was dark, having but one small window with glass panes near the
loom, the other and larger opening being tightly closed by a wooden
shutter. David slept late, and awoke at last to find himself thousands
of miles away from his dreams in this unique room, all in the deepest
shadow, except for the one warm bar of sunlight which fell across his
face. He drowsed off again, and his mind began piecing together
fragments and scenes from the previous day and evening, and immediately
he was surrounded by mystery, moonlit, fairylike, and white, a little
crooked being at his side looking up at him like some gnome creature of
the hills, revealed as a part of the enchantment. Then slowly resolving
and melting away after the manner of dreams, the wide spaces of the
mystery drew closer and warmer, and a great centre of blazing logs threw
grotesque, dancing lights among them, and an old face peered out with
bright, keen eyes, now seen, now lost in the fitful shadows, now pale
and appealing or cautiously withdrawn, but always watching--watching
while the little crooked being came and watched also. Then between him
and the blazing light came a dark figure silhouetted blackly against it,
moving, stooping, rising, going and coming--a sweet girl's head with
heavily coiled hair through which the firelight played with flashes of
its own color, and a delicate profile cut in pure, clean lines melting
into throat and gently rounded breast; like a spirit, now here, now
gone, again near and bending over him,--a ministering spirit bringing
him food,--until gradually this half wake, dreaming reminiscence
concentrated upon her, and again he saw her standing holding the candle
high and looking up at him,--a wondering, questioning spirit,--then
drooping wearily into the chair by the uncleared table, and again
waiting with almost a smile on her parted lips as he said "good night."
Good night? Ah, yes. It was morning.
Again he heard the continuous rushing noise to which he had listened in
the white mystery, that had soothed him to slumber the night before,
rising and falling--never ceasing. He roused himself with sudden energy
and bounded from his couch. He would go out and investigate. His sleep
had been sound, and he felt a rejuvenation he had not experienced in
many months. When he threw open the shutter of the large unglazed window
space and looked out on his strange surroundings, he found himself in a
new world, sparkling, fresh, clear, shining with sunlight and glistening
with wetness, as though the whole earth had been newly washed and
varnished. The sunshine streamed in and warmed him, and the air, filled
with winelike fragrance, stirred his blood and set his pulses leaping.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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