The Trail of a Sourdough: Life in AlaskaSullivan, May Kellogg
History
The Trail of a Sourdough: Life in Alaska
Sullivan, May Kellogg
Alaska -- Fiction
Daily I meditated in the sweet silence, and hourly received strength and
consolation therefrom. Many pledges I made which I would fulfil later
on--the future then held no terrors for me--I would work, work and wait.
More, I would learn, I would grow, I would climb. I resolved to reach
those heights to which many were traveling, and to which Olga had
already surely attained. In due time, my Olga, we shall no doubt meet
again and live, love and work together as of old, only that our
happiness will be farther perfected because we have farther advanced.
* * * * *
It was midnight. I seemed to visit the land of Holy Dreams. In the
distance I heard a chorus of voices, exquisitely beautiful and well
modulated, coming nearer as I continued to listen. The singers were
many, but so perfect was the rhythm and harmony that I dared not breathe
for fear of losing some part of the beautiful song. Not only so, but the
accompanying orchestra faithfully upheld and completed the symphony
which rose and fell with crescendos and diminuendoes more glorious as
the chorus pealed louder and nearer. I was listening in sheer delight
and with each nerve tingling, when a dear familiar voice began in
obligato, so clearly and sweetly that the tears sprang into my eyes--
"Have love; not love alone for one,
But man as man thy brother call,
And scatter like the circling sun
Thy charities on all."
CHAPTER IX
EYLLEN'S WATER WITCH
Two women sat weaving baskets. They were not Aleut Indians, and barely
escaped being Russians; but were of mixed blood so common on the
Aleutian Islands.
The younger one broke the silence.
"I'm tired of baskets! I want to do something else," she said, with a
yawn.
"Run out upon the hills awhile, but first finish the row you are doing,
then put all away in a safe place. No Russian leaves her work scattered
to get lost or soiled," said the older woman.
"Am I a Russian lady?" queried the girl, apparently about the age of
eighteen.
"You may be if your father comes to take you to Russia with him. But by
this time he is likely dead;--there is no telling. It is three years
since we saw him, and he promised to come again in two." And the woman
sighed.
"Oh, he may come at any time, and I am going to the top of the hill to
look for him now," said the girl with youth's hopefulness, as she
hastened to obey her aunt.
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