 | IX. A Dunnet Shepherdess |  |
9. IX.
Mrs. Hight told her daughter at once that she had enjoyed a beautiful call, and got a great many new things to think of. This was said so frankly in my hearing that it gave a consciousness of high reward, and I was indeed recompensed by the grateful look in Esther's eyes. We did not speak much together, but we understood each other. For the poor old woman did not read, and could not sew or knit with her helpless hand, and they were far from any neighbors, while her spirit was as eager in age as in youth, and expected even more from a disappointing world. She had lived to see the mortgage paid and money in the bank, and Esther's success acknowledged on every hand, and there were still a few pleasures left in life. William had his mother and Esther had hers, and they had not seen each other for a year, though Mrs. Hight had spoken of a year's making no change in William even at his age. She must have been in the far eighties herself, but of a noble courage and persistence in the world she ruled from her stiff-backed rocking-chair.
William unloaded his gift of dried fish, each one chosen with perfect care, and Esther stood by, watching him; and then she walked across the field with us, beside the wagon. I believed that I was the only one who knew their happy secret, and she blushed a little as we said good-by.
"I hope you ain't goin' to feel too tired, mother's so deaf; no, I hope you won't be tired," she said kindly, speaking as if she well knew what tiredness was. We could hear the neglected sheep bleating on the hill in the next moment's silence. Then she smiled at me, a smile of noble patience, of uncomprehended sacrifice, which I can never forget. There was all the remembrance of disappointed hopes, the hardships of winter, the loneliness of single-handedness, in her look; but I understood, and I love to remember her worn face and her young blue eyes.
"Good-by, William," she said gently; and William said good-by and gave her a quick glance, but he did not turn to look back, though I did, and waved my hand as she was putting up the bars behind us. Nor did he speak again until we had passed through the dark woods and were on our way homeward by the main road. The grave yearly visit had been changed from a hope into a happy memory.
"You can see the sea from the top of her pasture hill," said William at last.
"Can you?" I asked, with surprise.
"Yes, it's very high land; the ledges up there show very plain in clear weather from the top of our island, and there's a high upstandin' tree that makes a landmark for the fishin' grounds." And William gave a happy sigh.
When we had nearly reached the Landing, my companion looked over into the back of the wagon and saw that the piece of sailcloth was safe with which he had covered the dried fish. "I wish we had got some trout," he said wistfully. "they always appease Almiry, and make her feel 'twas worth while to go."
I stole a glance at William Blackett. We had not seen a solitary mosquito, but there was a dark stripe across his mild face, which might have been an old scar won long ago in battle.
| IX. A Dunnet Shepherdess | |