Belington progressive. [volume] (Belington, W. Va.) 1912-1927, 1916-03-30
E>u}6e !l2I5

breathing SilenceS OF scattered WOODS,
open fields and the far reaches OF
misty space, as though it were in hid-
ing from the railroads, mills and high
ways of an age of hurry. Upon its
long, level crest it bore but three GEN.
tiers of life and a symbol-Maple
house, the FRS and Elm house, half
hidden from the road by their distinc-
tive trees but as alive as the warm
eyes Of yelled woman; and the
church,
The church was but a symbol
mere shell. Within, it presented the
appearance of lumber room in dis
use, playground for rats and ha-
ven for dust. But without all was as
it had ever been, for the old church
was still beloved. Its fresh, white
walls and green shutters and the aspir-
Ing steeple, towering into the blue,
denied neglect and robbed abandon
ment of its sting.
In the shadow of it's walls lay an old
graveyard whose overgrown soil had
long been undisturbed. Along the
single road which cut the crest of the
hill from north to south were ruins
of houses that once had sheltered the
scattered congregation. But the ruins
were hard to find, for they, too. were
overgrown by juniper, clematis and a
crowding thicket of mountain ash
On these evidences of death and en-
croachment the old church seemed to
turn its back as if by right of its fresh
walls and unbroken steeple it were
still linked to life. Through its small
paned windows it seemed to gaze con-
tentedly across the road at three
houses, widely separated, that half
faced it in a diminishing perspective.
The three houses looked toward the
sunrise; the church toward its de-
cline.
On day in early spring Alan Wayne
was summoned to Red Hill. Snow still
hung in the crevices of East Noun
tain. On the hill the ashes, after the
total eclipse of winter, were meekly
donning pale green. The elms of Elm
house, tooswere but family outlined in
verdure. Farther down the road the
naples stretched out bare, black limbs.
Only the frs, in a phalanx, scoffed at
the general spring cleaning and looked
old and sullen in consequence.
The colts, driven by Alan Wayne,
flashed over the brim of Red Hill on to
the level top. Coachman Joe's jaw
since Mr.. Alan had taken the reins.
For the first time in their five years
Of equal life the colts had felt the
cut of whip, not in anger but as a
reproof for breaking. Coachman Joe
had braced himself for the bolt, his
hands itching to snatch the reins. But
there had been no boiling, only sud-
den settling down to business.
For the first time in their lives the
colts were being pushed, steadily,
evenly, almost-but never quite-to
the breaking point. Twice in the long
drive Joe gathered up his jaw and
turned his head, preparing spoken
tribute to a master hand. But there
was no speaking to Mr.. Alan's face. At
that moment Joe was a part of the
seat to Mr.. Alan, and, being a coach
man of long standing in the family, he
knew 1t.
Couldn't of got here quicker If he'd
let 'em bolt" said he, in subsequent
description to the stable hand and the
cook. He snatched up pail Of water
and poured it steadily on the ground.
"Jest like that He knew what was
In the colts the minute he laid hands
on 'em, and when he pulls 'em up at
the barn door there wasn't drop left
in their buckets, was there, Arthur"
mary Drop" said Arthur, stable
hand.
"And his face" continued the coach
man. 'Most times Mr.. Alan has no
eyes to speak Of, but today and that
time Miss Nance struck him with the
hatpin-'member, cook ?-his eyes
spread like fire and eat up his face.
This is a black day for the HILL Some
thin's going to happen. You mark
me-"
summoned in no .equivocal terms and,
for all his haste, it was with nervous
step he approached the house.
Maple house sheltered a mixed
brood. ]. Y. Wayne, seconded by Mrs.
]. Y, was the head of the family.
Their daughter. Nance Sterling, and
her babies represented the direct line,
but the orphans, Alan Wayne and
Clematis McAlpin, were on an equal
footing as children of the house. Alan
was the only child Of ]. Y.'s dead
brother. Clematis was also of Wayne
blood, but SO intricately removed that
her exact relation to the rest of the
tribe was never figured out twice to
the same conclusion. Old Captain
Wayne, retired from the regular army,
was an uncle in a different degree to
every generation of Wayne. He was
the only man on Red Hill who dared
call for whisky and soda when he
wanted it.