Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1909-05-08
Fiction
HOPE OF THE HEART.
BY BALDWIN SEARS.

CHANGING above the horizon.
A young man with a scythe over his
shoulder crossing the lane below the
barn looked up toward the house See
ing the girl, he stopped, Strengthened
his shoulders as though he half eX-
pected her to speak and to speak him
self then walked on with tagging
steps and disappeared below the or
chard where the brook flows into the
woods
Mary leaned her arms on the edge Of
the scuttle and looked out The hot
air from the garnet blowing in gusts
past her face was like twitch ut her
sleeves reminding her Of the household
she had left below.
She was the only one who had not
already gone to bed. 1t was harvest
time. They were cutting the wheat
in the meadows and all day the hum
of the reaper had come up from the
broad white fields where the men
were at work Since dawn the house
had been buZZing with lively toll. but
now the days work was ended.
In the front room off the porch the
farmer and his wife were asleep Vhey
had gone to bed Immediately after SUI"
per and while Mary had sat on the
porch she heard their low voices talk
Ing over the potato crop and the grain,
their drowsy words growing fewer,
slower, until at length they sank away
and ceased while yet the bobolinkS
were skimming over the meadow and
the red of the sunset fingered.
Across the gate her married brother
and a neighbor had talked politics.
Mary had heard their nasal voices al
ternating like the wooden balls tossed
by n iuggler. In the south chamber
lust under the attic her SiSter-in-aW
had been putting her children to bed
the creak, creak of the rocking chair
as 1t swayCd over an uneven board
dimly audible through the silent house
In the attic under the roof slept her
little brother Bob, dreamless. tired and
contented at the end Of his long sum
mer day.
lJONH III lllt hllNllNl ulh lllN A'i
keys and chickens had gone to roost
in the apple trees and the grape arbor
clucking and twittering in sleepy pro.
test against the awkward ones as
they settled themselves together.
In a few moments 1t had grown
very still and dark.
The girl on the housetop drew .
long breath and leaned her head back
against the edge Of the roof. 1t was
only s o'clock. and the faint yellow
twilight fingered on the border of the
summer night A new moon hung low
over the crest of the woods. The west
wind brought up the hot smell of
ripening cornfields, and a bat dartcd
out of the orchard in swooping cir
Giles against the clear night.
From her cyrie above the trectUps
the farm buildings. the neighboring
houses, the fields and lanes, even the
wide post road. looked quite small and
cheap like a toy village, The country
side in its irregular CheckerbOard of
pasture, corn and woodland, pale vel
low with the wheat stubble sombcr
green where half rpenpd orchards
spread. marked here and there by Il
cluster Of roofs. n spire that told a
hamlet in the hills, became significant
only in the mystery Of distance as it
mounted toward the hills and ended at
last in one vast, gray, sealike level
against the trackess sky. Mary looked
at it all as one upon whose mind the
meaning of these familiar scenes had
just begun to dawn-these fields. the
chickens she must pluck, the bread
she must make, the raspberries she
must preserve. all grouped themselves
before her in Il coherent scheme of life.
From dawn till dark, each day alike,
cooking, washing, preserving, holding
the babies-.the burdens of each side
were hers. SO far she had carried
them unthinkingly, unquestioningly. 1t
was only the lot of every farmers life.
Tonight she was unusually tired. 70
escape feeling of reStleSSness she had
determined to go to bed. 1t was re-
freShng to lie in the cool darkness.
But before she reached the top OF the
attic stairs she felt the dry heat Of the
sun baked roof. The great timbered
space, dark with it's age blackened
beams and scantly Widowed twilight,
held a strange odOr of cedar shingles,
Of ancient leather trunks. of musty
papers. In the solemn dust the candle
lost its bold glare and dropped to a
wavering spark, eyed by the glmmer-
ing gray panes Of the gable windows
high under the ridge.
The two chimneys. like huge stone
giants whom she had been feeding all
day, stopped over her as they lowered
toward the roof. reminding her of to-
morrow's kitchen work.
AS Mary sat on the edge Of her cot,
thinking Of these things, she looked up
vaguely A star, the first in the pale
plight. shOne through the window upon
her, clear. unwinking, pensive, holy.
lock of hair loosened by the wind
floated softly across her cheek like the
kiss Of unseen lips. For the first time
In her life she felt the restless longing
for some good of which she was igno-
rant. What was it her simple. sweet
existence la"E'lf Had she not every
thing that girI could ask father,