Doctor : a Tale of the Rockies

Ralph Connor

Description

pubOne.info present you this new edition. There were two ways by which one could get to the Old Stone Mill. One, from the sideroad by a lane which, edged with grassy, flower-decked banks, wound between snake fences, along which straggled irregular clumps of hazel and blue beech, dogwood and thorn bushes, and beyond which stretched on one side fields of grain just heading out this bright June morning, and on the other side a long strip of hay fields of mixed timothy and red clover, generous of colour and perfume, which ran along the snake fence till it came to a potato patch which, in turn, led to an orchard where the lane began to drop down to the Mill valley.

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 06 novembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819946717
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE DOCTOR
I
THE OLD STONE MILL
There were two ways by which one could get to theOld Stone Mill. One, from the sideroad by a lane which, edged withgrassy, flower-decked banks, wound between snake fences, alongwhich straggled irregular clumps of hazel and blue beech, dogwoodand thorn bushes, and beyond which stretched on one side fields ofgrain just heading out this bright June morning, and on the otherside a long strip of hay fields of mixed timothy and red clover,generous of colour and perfume, which ran along the snake fencetill it came to a potato patch which, in turn, led to an orchardwhere the lane began to drop down to the Mill valley.
At the crest of the hill travellers with even themerest embryonic aesthetic taste were forced to pause. For therethe valley with its sweet loveliness lay in full view before them.Far away to the right, out of an angle in the woods, ran the MillCreek to fill the pond which brimmed gleaming to the green bank ofthe dam. Beyond the pond a sloping grassy sward showed green underan open beech and maple woods. On the hither side of the pond anorchard ran down hill to the water's edge, and at the nearer cornerof the dam, among a clump of ancient willows, stood the Old StoneMill, with house attached, and across the mill yard the shed andbarn, all neat as a tidy housewife's kitchen. To the left of themill, with its green turf-clad dam and placid gleaming pond,wandered off green fields of many shading colours, through whichran the Mill Creek, foaming as if enraged that it should have beeneven for a brief space paused in its flow to serve another's will.Then, beyond the many-shaded fields, woods again, spruce andtamarack, where the stream entered, and maple and beech on thehigher levels. That was one way to the mill, the way the farmerstook with their grist or their oats for old Charley Boyle togrind.
The other way came in by the McKenzies' lane fromthe Concession Line, which ran at right angles to the sideroad.This was a mere foot path, sometimes used by riders who came for abag of flour or meal when the barrel or bin had unawares run low.This path led through the beech and maple woods to the farther endof the dam, where it divided, to the right if one wished to go tothe mill yard, and across the dam if one wished to reach the house.From any point of view the Old Stone Mill, with its dam and pond,its surrounding woods and fields and orchard, made a picture ofrare loveliness, and suggestive of deep fulness of peace. At least,the woman standing at the dam, where the shade of the willows fell,found it so. The beauty, the quiet of the scene, rested her; thefull sweet harmony of those many voices in which Nature pours forthherself on a summer day, stole in upon her heart and comforted her.She was a woman of striking appearance. Tall and straight shestood, a figure full of strength; her dark face stamped withfeatures that bespoke her Highland ancestry, her black hair shotwith silver threads, parting in waves over her forehead; her eyesdeep set, black and sombre, glowing with that mystic light thatshines only in eyes that have for generations peered into the gloomof Highland glens.
“Ay, it's a bonny spot, ” she sighed, her ruggedface softening as she gazed. “It's a bonny spot, and it would be asore thing to part it. ”
As she stood looking and listening her face changed.Through the hum of the mill there pierced now and then the notes ofa violin.
“Oh, that weary fiddle! ” she said with an impatientshake of her head. But in a few moments the impatience in her facepassed into tender pity. “Ah, well, well, ” she sighed, “poor man,it is the kind heart he has, whateffer. ”
She passed down the bank into the house, thenthrough the large living-room, speckless in its thrifty order, intoa longer room that joined house to mill. She glanced at the tallclock that stood beside the door. “Mercy me! ” she cried, “it'stime my own work was done. But I'll just step in and see— ” Sheopened the door leading to the mill and stood silent. A neat littleman with cheery, rosy face, clean-shaven, and with a mass of curlyhair tinged with grey hanging about his forehead, was seated upon achair tipped back against the wall, playing a violin with greatvigour and unmistakable delight.
“The mill's a-workin', mother, ” he cried withoutstopping his flying fingers, “and I'm keepin' my eye upon her.”
She shook her head reproachfully at her husband.“Ay, the mill is workin' indeed, but it's not of the mill you'rethinking. ”
“Of what then? ” he cried cheerily, stillplaying.
“It is of that raising and of the dancing, I'll bebound you. ”
“Wrong, mother, ” replied the little man exultant.“Sure you're wrong. Listen to this. What is it now? ”
“Nonsense, ” cried the woman, “how do I know? ”
“But listen, Elsie, darlin', ” he cried, droppinginto his Irish brogue. “Don't you mind— ” and on he played for afew minutes. “Now you mind, don't you? ”
“Of course, I mind, 'The Lass o' Gowrie. ' But whatof it? ” she cried, heroically struggling to maintain her sternappearance.
But even as she spoke her face, so amazing in itspower of swiftly changing expression, took on a softer look.
“Ah, there you are, ” cried the little man intriumph, “now I know you remember. And it's twenty-four yearsto-morrow, Elsie, darlin', since— ” He suddenly dropped his violinon some meal bags at his side and sprang toward her.
“Go away with you. ” She closed the door quicklybehind her. “Whisht now! Be quate now, I'm sayin'. You're just asfoolish as ever you were. ”
“Foolish? No mother, not foolish, but wise yon time,although it's foolish enough I've been often since. And, ” he addedwith a sigh, “it's not much luck I've brought you, except for theboys. They'll do, perhaps, what I've not done. ”
“Whisht now, lad, ” said his wife, patting hisshoulder gently, for a great tenderness flowed over her eloquentface. “What has come to you to-day? Go away now to your work, ” sheadded in her former tone, “there's the hay waiting, you know well.Go now and I'll watch the grist. ”
“And why would you watch the grist, mother? ” said avoice from the mill door, as a young man of eighteen years steppedinside. He was his mother's son. The same swarthy, rugged face, thesame deep-set, sombre eyes, the same suggestion of strength inevery line of his body, of power in every move he made and ofpassion in every glance. “Indeed, you will do no such thing. Dad'llwatch the grist and I'll slash down the hay in no time. And do youknow, mother, ” he continued in a tone of suppressed excitement,“have you heard the big news? ” His mother waited. “He's cominghome to-day. He's coming with the Murrays, and Alec will bring himto the raising. ”
A throb of light swept across the mother's face, butshe only said in a voice calm and steady, “Well, you'd better getthat hay down. It'll be late enough before it is in. ”
“Listen to her, Barney, ” cried her husbandscornfully. “And she'll not be going to the raising today, either.The boy'll be home by one in the morning, and sure that's timeenough. ”
Barney stood looking at his mother with a quietsmile on his face. “We will have dinner early, ” he said, “and I'lljust take a turn at the hay. ”
She turned and entered the house without a word,while he took down the scythe from its peg, removed the blade fromthe snath and handed it to his father.
“Give it a turn or two, ” he said; “you're betterthan me at this. ”
“Here then, ” replied his father, handing him theviolin, “and you're better at this. ”
“They would not say so to-night, Dad, ” replied thelad as he took the violin from his father's hands, looking it overreverently. In a very few minutes his father came back with thescythe ready for work; and Barney, fastening it to the snath, againset off up the lane.
II
THE DAUGHTER OF THE MANSE
Two hours later, down from the dusty sideroad, agirl swinging a milk pail in her hand turned into the mill lane. Asshe stepped from the glare and dust of the highroad into the lane,it seemed as if Nature had been waiting to find in her the touchthat makes perfect; so truly, in all her fresh daintiness, did sheseem a bit of that green shady lane with its sweet fragrance andits fresh beauty.
It had taken sixteen years of wholesome country lifeto round that supple form into its firm lines of grace, and to tintthose moulded cheeks with the dainty bloom that seemed a reflectionfrom the thistle heads that nodded at her through the snake fence.It had taken sixteen years of pure-hearted, joyous living to lendthose eyes, azure as the sky above, their brave, clear glance;sixteen years of unsullied maidenhood to endow her with that divinesomething of mystery which, with its shy reserve and fearlesstrust, awakens reverence and rebukes impurity as with the vision ofGod.
Her sunbonnet, fallen back from her yellow hair,shining golden in the sun, revealed a face strong, brave and kind,with just a touch of pride. The pride showed most, however, in thepoise of her head and the carriage of her shoulders. But when themobile lips parted in a smile over the straight rows of white teethone forgot the pride and thought only of the soft persuasivelips.
As she sprang up the green turf, she drew in deepbreaths of clover-scented air, and exclaimed aloud, “Oh, this isgood! ” She peeped through the snake fence at the luscious richmasses of red clover. “What a bed! ” she cried; “I believe I'll tryit. ” Over the fence she sprang, and in a thorn tree's shade, deepin the fragrant blossoms, she stretched herself at full length uponher back. For some minutes she lay in the luxury of that fragrantbed looking up through the spreading thorn tree branches to theblue sky with its floating, fleecy clouds far overhead. The lazydrone of the bees in the clover beside her, the languorous summerairs swaying into gentle nodding the timothy stalks just above herhead, and all the soothing sounds of a summer morning, thatmany-voiced choir that sings to the great God Natu