the village watch-tower-第13章

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at　once。　　Everybody　who　could　find　a　shelter　of　any　sort　hastened　to　it。

The　women　at　home　set　their　children　in　the　midst　of　feather　beds；

and　some　of　them　even　huddled　there　themselves；　their　babies　clinging

to　them　in　sympathetic　fear；　as　the　livid　shafts　of　light　illuminated

the　dark　rooms　with　more　than　noonday　glare。



The　air　was　full　of　gloom；　a　nameless　terror　lurked

within　it；　the　elements　seemed　at　war　with　each　other。

Horses　whinnied　in　the　stables；　and　colts　dashed　about　the　pastures。

The　cattle　sought　sheltered　places；　the　cows　ambling　clumsily　towards

some　refuge；　their　full　bags　dripping　milk　as　they　swung　heavily

to　and　fro。　　The　birds　flew　towards　the　orchards　and　the　deep　woods；

the　swallows　swooped　restlessly　round　the　barns；　and　hid　themselves

under　the　eaves　or　in　the　shadow　of　deserted　nests。



The　rain　now　fell　in　sheets。



〃Hurry　up　'n'　git　under　cover；　Jabe；〃　said　Brad　Gibson；

〃you're　jest　the　kind　of　a　pole　to　draw　lightnin'！〃



〃You　hain't；　then！〃　retorted　Jabe。　　〃There　ain't　enough　o'

you　fer　lightnin'　to　ketch　holt　of！〃



Suddenly　a　ghastly　streak　of　light　leaped　out　of　a　cloud；

and　then　another；　till　the　sky　seemed　lit　up　by　cataracts

of　flame。　　A　breath　of　wind　sprang　into　the　still　air。

Then　a　deafening　crash；　clap；　crack；　roar；　peal！　and　as　Jabe

Slocum　looked　out　of　a　protecting　shed　door；　he　saw　a　fiery

ball　burst　from　the　clouds；　shooting　brazen　arrows　as　it　fell。

Within　the　instant　the　meeting…house　steeple　broke　into　a　tongue

of　flame；　and　then；　looking　towards　home；　he　fancied

that　the　fireball　dropped　to　earth　in　Squire　Bean's　meadow。



The　wind　blew　more　fiercely　now。　　There　was　a　sudden

crackling　of　wood；　falling　of　old　timers；　and　breaking　of　glass。

The　deadly　fluid　ran　in　a　winding　course　down　a　great　maple

by　the　shed；　leaving　a　narrow　charred　channel　through　the　bark

to　tell　how　it　passed　to　earth。　　A　sombre　pine　stood　up；

black　and　burned；　its　heart　gaping　through　a　ghastly　wound

in　the　split　trunk。



The　rain　now　subsided；　there　was　only　an　occasional　faint

rumbling　of　thunder；　as　if　it　were　murmuring　over　the　distant　sea；

the　clouds　broke　away　in　the　west；　the　sun　peeped　out；　as　if　to　see

what　had　been　going　on　in　the　world　since　he　hid　himself　an　hour　before。

A　delicate　rainbow　bridge　stretched　from　the　blackened　church

steeple　to　the　glittering　weathercock　on　the　squire's　barn；

and　there；　in　the　centre　of　the　fair　green　meadows　from　which　it

had　risen　in　glorious　strength　and　beauty　for　a　century　or　more；

lay　the　nooning　tree。



The　fireball；　if　ball　of　fire　indeed　there　were；　had　struck

in　the　very　centre　of　its　splendid　dome；　and　ploughed　its　way

from　feather　tip　to　sturdy　root；　riving　the　tree　in　twain；

cleaving　its　great　boughs　left　and　right；　laying　one

majestic　half　level　with　the　earth；　and　bending　the　other　till

the　proud　head　almost　touched　the　grass。



The　rainbow　was　reflected　in　the　million　drops　glittering

upon　the　bowed　branches；　turning　each　into　a　tear　of　liquid　opal。

The　birds　hopped　on　the　prone　magnificence；　and　eyed　timorously

a　strange　object　underneath。



There　had　been　one　swift；　pitiless；　merciful　stroke！

The　monarch　of　the　meadow　would　never　again　feel　the　magic

thrill　of　the　sap　in　its　veins；　nor　the　bursting　of　brown　bud

into　green　leaf。



The　birds　would　build　their　nests　and　sing　their　idyls　in　other　boughs。

The　〃time　of　pleasure　and　love〃　was　over　with　the　nooning　tree；　over　too；

with　him　who　slept　beneath；　for　under　its　fallen　branches；　with　the　light

of　a　great　peace　in　his　upturned　face；　lay　the　man　from　Tennessee。





…





THE　FORE…ROOM　RUG。





Diadema；　wife　of　Jot　Bascom；　was　sitting　at　the　window

of　the　village　watch…tower；　so　called　because　it　commanded

a　view　of　nearly　everything　that　happened　in　Pleasant　River；

those　details　escaping　the　physical　eye　being　supplied　by　faith

and　imagination　working　in　the　light　of　past　experience。

She　sat　in　the　chair　of　honor；　the　chair　of　choice；　the　high…backed

rocker　by　the　southern　window；　in　which　her　husband's　mother；

old　Mrs。　Bascom；　had　sat　for　thirty　years；　applying　a　still　more

powerful　intellectual　telescope　to　the　doings　of　her　neighbors。

Diadema's　seat　had　formerly　been　on　the　less　desirable　side　of

the　little　light…stand；　where　Priscilla　Hollis　was　now　installed。



Mrs。　Bascom　was　at　work　on　a　new　fore…room　rug；　the　former　one　having

been　transferred　to　Miss　Hollis's　chamber；　for；　as　the　teacher　at　the　brick

schoolhouse；　a　graduate　of　a　Massachusetts　normal　school；　and　the　daughter

of　a　deceased　judge；　she　was　a　boarder　of　considerable　consequence。

It　was　a　rainy　Saturday　afternoon；　and　the　two　women　were　alone。

It　was　a　pleasant；　peaceful　sitting…room；　as　neat　as　wax　in　every　part。

The　floor　was　covered　by　a　cheerful　patriotic　rag　carpet　woven　entirely

of　red；　white；　and　blue　rags；　and　protected　in　various　exposed　localities

by　button　rugs；red；　white；　and　blue　disks　superimposed　one　on　the　other。



Diadema　Bascom　was　a　person　of　some　sentiment。　　When　her　old　father；

Captain　Dennett；　was　dying；　he　drew　a　wallet　from　under　his　pillow；

and　handed　her　a　twenty…dollar　bill　to　get　something　to　remember　him　by。

This　unwonted　occurrence　burned　itself　into　the　daughter's　imagination；

and　when　she　came　as　a　bride　to　the　Bascom　house　she　refurnished

the　sitting…room　as　a　kind　of　monument　to　the　departed　soldier；

whose　sword　and　musket　were　now　tied　to　the　wall　with　neatly　hemmed　bows

of　bright　red　cotton。



The　chair　cushions　were　of　red…and…white　glazed　patch；

the　turkey　wings　that　served　as　hearth　brushes　were　hung　against

the　white…painted　chimney…piece　with　blue　skirt　braid；　and　the　white

shades　were　finished　with　home…made　scarlet　〃tossels。〃

A　little　whatnot　in　one　corner　was　laden　with　the　trophies　of　battle。

The　warrior's　brass　buttons　were　strung　on　a　red　picture　cord　and　hung

over　his　daguerreotype　on　the　upper　shelf；　there　was　a　tarnished

shoulder　strap；　and　a　flattened　bullet　that　the　captain's　jealous

contemporaries　swore　_he_　never　stopped；　unless　he　got　it　in　the　rear

when　he　was　flying　from　the　foe。　　There　was　also　a　little　tin

canister　in　which　a　charge　of　powder　had　been　sacredly　preserved。

The　scoffers；　again；　said　that　〃the　cap'n　put　it　in　his　musket

when　he　went　into　the　war；　and　kep'　it　there　till　he　come　out。〃

These　objects　were　tastefully　decorated　with　the　national　colors。

In　fact；　no　modern　aesthete　could　have　arranged　a　symbolic　symphony

of　grief　and　glory　with　any　more　fidelity　to　an　ideal　than　Diadema　Bascom；

in　working　out　her　scheme　of　red；　white；　and　blue。



Rows　of　ripening　tomatoes　lay　along　the　ledges　of　the　windows；

and　a　tortoise…shell　cat　snoozed　on　one　of　the　broad　sills。

The　tall　clock　in　the　corner　ticked　peacefully。　　Priscilla　Hollis

never　tired　of　looking　at　the　jolly　red…cheeked　moon；　the　group

of　stars　on　a　blue　ground；　the　trig　little　ship；　the　old　house；

and　the　jolly　moon　again；　creeping　one　after　another　across　the　open

space　at　the　top。



Jot　Bascom　was　out；　as　usual；　gathering　statistics　of

the　last　horse　trade；　little　Jot　was　building　〃stickin'〃　houses

in　the　barn；　Priscilla　was　sewing　long　strips　for　braiding；

while　Diadema　sat　at　the　drawing…in　frame；　hook　in　hand；

and　a　large　basket　of　cut　rags　by　her　side。



Not　many　weeks　before　she　had　paid　one　of　her　periodical

visits　to　the　attic。　　No　housekeeper　in　Pleasant　River　save

Mrs。　Jonathan　Bascom　would　have　thought　of　dusting　a　garret；

washing　the　window　and　sweeping　down　the　cobwebs　once　a　month；

and　renewing　the　camphor　bags　in　the　chests　twice　a　year；

but　notwithstanding　this　zealous　care　the　moths　had　made　their

way　into　one　of　her　treasure…houses；　the　most　precious　of　all；

the　old　hair　trunk　that　had　belonged　to　her　sister　Lovice。

Once　ensconced　there；　they　had　eaten　through　its　hoarded　relics；

and　reduced　the　faded　finery　to　a　state　best　described　by　Diadema

as　〃reg'lar