Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1884-10-31
Gales aud Sketthes.
A CLOD OF THE VALLEY.

A CL0D OF THE VALLEY
/ How sad the hills were in the sunset
Ruth Allen always thought so. and vel
she loved to stand and look at them, as
poets love pain and musicians love minor
chords in music. She had little time even
for this sorrowful pleasure. for she was
the hard working wife o! a New Eng
| land farmer: and if she knew the hills
well, it was not from sitting before them
with camp stool and easel and irving to
make their portraits, as more fortunate
woman with just her soul might have
done, but from the chance glimpses that
she sought of them at all hours.
| She knew them well, for instaee at four
o'clock in the morning, she was up
then, beginning to get breakfast. and she
saw the sun kiss the hill tops and the
day break forth into joy. and she heard
the first birds say good morning to each
other. But the morning gladness seldom
! found much answer in her heart. Morn
ing meant little to her except getting
up before she was half rested, and be-
ginning another hard days work.
Sometimes on Sundays, when her day
OF comparative leisure came, her faith
| seemed kindled by the morning light,
and she felt in some vague way which
she could not have put into words, that
on these hill tops an unclothed soul might
poise itself for a moment for last look at
| this old, familiar earth, iull OF plowed
| fields, and mown meadows, and toiling
men and women-a last look-and then
| fly, fly, fiy, on, up. away, into what glo-
rles she hardly dared to think, only the
dim vision of them quickened her tired
pulses. and made her draw long breath,
as if the freedom and flight had begun
already.
But these visions were only born on
Sunday mornings: and at night she never
saw anything in the hills but a place for
graves. Perhaps she loved them best in
that aspect. She had, by the time the
day was done, no wings wherewith to
fly, even in thought-no energy or desire
to carry her soul upward. She longed
only that some deep place of rest should
open to her, and Unfold, and let her sleep.
sleep. sleep, and no cock should ever
crow, and somebody else, not she, should
get the early breakfast for the farm
hands. who were always so hungry.
This very day she had given them five
meals-their breakfast at five o'clock in
the morning, luncheon to carry into the
| fields with them for the middle of the fore
noon. a noon-dav dinner. mid-afternoon
luncheon, and now at last. she had set out
their hearty cold supper in the long, low
kitchen, and she might stand while they
ate it, she thought. and see the last ray of
the sunset fade and die behind those west
ern hills, and breathe for few moments
freely. But just exactly then came her
husbands voice:
Ruth, wish ylu'd come and make me
cup of tea
| For moment she thought she hated
him. She never will forget that one mo-
ment of mad rebellion. What had she
ever married him for she wondered. Great
strong, numbering man, who never cared
to look at sunsets and didn't know what it
was to be tired A clod of the valley
yes, clod She had caught the words
| from somewhere and she said them over
with much satisfaction. And yet she had
loved him, if she would but have sent her
thoughts backward.
He had been young and strong and
handsome. and with good farm of his
own. which his grandfather had left him
ard Ruth, lonely orphan as she was, had
been proud enough when hechose her out
! from among the other girls and asked her
to be his wife She seldom thought now
of the young romance that clothed those
far off days. Ten working years had
since put romance offcctually to flight.
! They say a time comes at the end of life
when we remember all things and the far
off seems near. Perhaps in that twilight,
when the soul is gathering up its possess
| sions and getting ready to depart. Ruth
would remember. and walk again in the
fields of memory. where she had been
ioyfully wooed and gladly won. They
seemed tar enough behind her now-those
| fields. She turned reluctantly towards
| the house. There was no grave, as yet,
ready for her among the hills. and until
she should find one, evidently there was
no rest.
Yes, indeed Was not the cold supper
good enough, this hot weather. with
quarts of milk to drink if they wanted it ?
She went to the back door, and Tom stood
there leaning against it. Perhaps he was
not quite so dull AS she had been thinking
of him. He perceived the weary reluctance
with which she came, and he said kindly
Its too bad, Ruth! | did hate to ask
you to make up fire again; but l can
eat, and the shakes have got hold of me.
I've been working down in the marsh
meadow and suppose have got a chill"
Perhaps Ruth's heart was not quite
dead within her, after all. She sprang to
his side, and she could feel how he was
trembling. His teeth chartered. and vet
his hands seemed to burn her when she
touched them. Her nature was one quick
to take alarm. She was intensely fright
ened.
II am afraid you are very SICK" she
said but he managed to laugh and say,
mo, he had got bad chill. but her good
tea would set him up, and he should be
all right IN the morning"
Ruth made the tea. Hot and strong il
was. but it did not warm away that terri
BILE internal chill. She watched all night
beside him. and. strangely enough, the
one thought that kept her company. and,
would not be got rid of, was that she had
called him, to herself. clod of the val
ley.
What il that was prophecy; and if he
would never be her strong Tom again, but
only clod among clods, end next years
grass would spring rank above him! She
Kept saying to herself by way OF comfort,
that she had been good wife to him. |,
I a. IL L. L Il