the golden road-第41节

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　All　the　glow　and　radiance　and　joy　at　earth's　heart　seem　to　have　broken　loose　in　a　splendid　determination　to　express　itself　for　once　before　the　frost　of　winter　chills　her　beating　pulses。　　It　is　the　year's　carnival　ere　the　dull　Lenten　days　of　leafless　valleys　and　penitential　mists　come。

The　time　of　apple…picking　had　come　around　once　more　and　we　worked　joyously。　　Uncle　Blair　picked　apples　with　us；　and　between　him　and　the　Story　Girl　it　was　an　October　never　to　be　forgotten。

〃Will　you　go　far　afield　for　a　walk　with　me　to…day？〃　he　said　to　her　and　me；　one　idle　afternoon　of　opal　skies；　pied　meadows　and　misty　hills。

It　was　Saturday　and　Peter　had　gone　home；　Felix　and　Dan　were　helping　Uncle　Alec　top　turnips；　Cecily　and　Felicity　were　making　cookies　for　Sunday；　so　the　Story　Girl　and　I　were　alone　in　Uncle　Stephen's　Walk。

We　liked　to　be　alone　together　that　last　month；　to　think　the　long；　long　thoughts　of　youth　and　talk　about　our　futures。　　There　had　grown　up　between　us　that　summer　a　bond　of　sympathy　that　did　not　exist　between　us　and　the　others。　　We　were　older　than　theythe　Story　Girl　was　fifteen　and　I　was　nearly　that；　and　all　at　once　it　seemed　as　if　we　were　immeasurably　older　than　the　rest；　and　possessed　of　dreams　and　visions　and　forward…reaching　hopes　which　they　could　not　possibly　share　or　understand。　　At　times　we　were　still　children；　still　interested　in　childish　things。　　But　there　came　hours　when　we　seemed　to　our　two　selves　very　grown　up　and　old；　and　in　those　hours　we　talked　our　dreams　and　visions　and　hopes；　vague　and　splendid；　as　all　such　are；　over　together；　and　so　began　to　build　up；　out　of　the　rainbow　fragments　of　our　childhood's　companionship；　that　rare　and　beautiful　friendship　which　was　to　last　all　our　lives；　enriching　and　enstarring　them。　　For　there　is　no　bond　more　lasting　than　that　formed　by　the　mutual　confidences　of　that　magic　time　when　youth　is　slipping　from　the　sheath　of　childhood　and　beginning　to　wonder　what　lies　for　it　beyond　those　misty　hills　that　bound　the　golden　road。

〃Where　are　you　going？〃　asked　the　Story　Girl。

〃To　'the　woods　that　belt　the　gray　hillside'ay；　and　overflow　beyond　it　into　many　a　valley　purple…folded　in　immemorial　peace；〃　answered　Uncle　Blair。　　〃I　have　a　fancy　for　one　more　ramble　in　Prince　Edward　Island　woods　before　I　leave　Canada　again。　　But　I　would　not　go　alone。　　So　come；　you　two　gay　youthful　things　to　whom　all　life　is　yet　fair　and　good；　and　we　will　seek　the　path　to　Arcady。　　There　will　be　many　little　things　along　our　way　to　make　us　glad。　　Joyful　sounds　will　'come　ringing　down　the　wind；'　a　wealth　of　gypsy　gold　will　be　ours　for　the　gathering；　we　will　learn　the　potent；　unutterable　charm　of　a　dim　spruce　wood　and　the　grace　of　flexile　mountain　ashes　fringing　a　lonely　glen；　we　will　tryst　with　the　folk　of　fur　and　feather；　we'll　hearken　to　the　music　of　gray　old　firs。　　Come；　and　you'll　have　a　ramble　and　an　afternoon　that　you　will　both　remember　all　your　lives。〃

We　did　have　it；　never　has　its　remembrance　faded；　that　idyllic　afternoon　of　roving　in　the　old　Carlisle　woods　with　the　Story　Girl　and　Uncle　Blair　gleams　in　my　book　of　years；　a　page　of　living　beauty。　　Yet　it　was　but　a　few　hours　of　simplest　pleasure；　we　wandered　pathlessly　through　the　sylvan　calm　of　those　dear　places　which　seemed　that　day　to　be　full　of　a　great　friendliness；　Uncle　Blair　sauntered　along　behind　us；　whistling　softly；　sometimes　he　talked　to　himself；　we　delighted　in　those　brief　reveries　of　his；　Uncle　Blair　was　the　only　man　I　have　ever　known　who　could；　when　he　so　willed；　〃talk　like　a　book；〃　and　do　it　without　seeming　ridiculous；　perhaps　it　was　because　he　had　the　knack　of　choosing　〃fit　audience；　though　few；〃　and　the　proper　time　to　appeal　to　that　audience。

We　went　across　the　fields；　intending　to　skirt　the　woods　at　the　back　of　Uncle　Alec's　farm　and　find　a　lane　that　cut　through　Uncle　Roger's　woods；　but　before　we　came　to　it　we　stumbled　on　a　sly；　winding　little　path　quite　by　accidentif；　indeed；　there　can　be　such　a　thing　as　accident　in　the　woods；　where　I　am　tempted　to　think　we　are　led　by　the　Good　People　along　such　of　their　fairy　ways　as　they　have　a　mind　for　us　to　walk　in。

〃Go　to；　let　us　explore　this；〃　said　Uncle　Blair。　　〃It　always　drags　terribly　at　my　heart　to　go　past　a　wood　lane　if　I　can　make　any　excuse　at　all　for　traversing　it：　　for　it　is　the　by…ways　that　lead　to　the　heart　of　the　woods　and　we　must　follow　them　if　we　would　know　the　forest　and　be　known　of　it。　　When　we　can　really　feel　its　wild　heart　beating　against　ours　its　subtle　life　will　steal　into　our　veins　and　make　us　its　own　for　ever；　so　that　no　matter　where　we　go　or　how　wide　we　wander　in　the　noisy　ways　of　cities　or　over　the　lone　ways　of　the　sea；　we　shall　yet　be　drawn　back　to　the　forest　to　find　our　most　enduring　kinship。〃

〃I　always　feel　so　SATISFIED　in　the　woods；〃　said　the　Story　Girl　dreamily；　as　we　turned　in　under　the　low…swinging　fir　boughs。　　〃Trees　seem　such　friendly　things。〃

〃They　are　the　most　friendly　things　in　God's　good　creation；〃　said　Uncle　Blair　emphatically。　　〃And　it　is　so　easy　to　live　with　them。　　To　hold　converse　with　pines；　to　whisper　secrets　with　the　poplars；　to　listen　to　the　tales　of　old　romance　that　beeches　have　to　tell；　to　walk　in　eloquent　silence　with　self…contained　firs；　is　to　learn　what　real　companionship　is。　　Besides；　trees　are　the　same　all　over　the　world。　　A　beech　tree　on　the　slopes　of　the　Pyrenees　is　just　what　a　beech　tree　here　in　these　Carlisle　woods　is；　and　there　used　to　be　an　old　pine　hereabouts　whose　twin　brother　I　was　well　acquainted　with　in　a　dell　among　the　Apennines。　　Listen　to　those　squirrels；　will　you；　chattering　over　yonder。　　Did　you　ever　hear　such　a　fuss　over　nothing？　　Squirrels　are　the　gossips　and　busybodies　of　the　woods；　they　haven't　learned　the　fine　reserve　of　its　other　denizens。　　But　after　all；　there　is　a　certain　shrill　friendliness　in　their　greeting。〃

〃They　seem　to　be　scolding　us；〃　I　said；　laughing。

〃Oh；　they　are　not　half　such　scolds　as　they　sound；〃　answered　Uncle　Blair　gaily。　　〃If　they　would　but　'tak　a　thought　and　mend　'　their　shrew…like　ways　they　would　be　dear；　lovable　creatures　enough。〃

〃If　I　had　to　be　an　animal　I　think　I'd　like　to　be　a　squirrel；〃　said　the　Story　Girl。　　〃It　must　be　next　best　thing　to　flying。〃

〃Just　see　what　a　spring　that　fellow　gave；〃　laughed　Uncle　Blair。　　〃And　now　listen　to　his　song　of　triumph！　　I　suppose　that　chasm　he　cleared　seemed　as　wide　and　deep　to　him　as　Niagara　Gorge　would　to　us　if　we　leaped　over　it。　　Well；　the　wood　people　are　a　happy　folk　and　very　well　satisfied　with　themselves。〃

Those　who　have　followed　a　dim；　winding；　balsamic　path　to　the　unexpected　hollow　where　a　wood…spring　lies　have　found　the　rarest　secret　the　forest　can　reveal。　　Such　was　our　good　fortune　that　day。　　At　the　end　of　our　path　we　found　it；　under　the　pines；　a　crystal…　clear　thing　with　lips　unkissed　by　so　much　as　a　stray　sunbeam。

〃It　is　easy　to　dream　that　this　is　one　of　the　haunted　springs　of　old　romance；〃　said　Uncle　Blair。　　〃'Tis　an　enchanted　spot　this；　I　am　very　sure；　and　we　should　go　softly；　speaking　low；　lest　we　disturb　the　rest　of　a　white；　wet　naiad；　or　break　some　spell　that　has　cost　long　years　of　mystic　weaving。〃

〃It's　so　easy　to　believe　things　in　the　woods；〃　said　the　Story　Girl；　shaping　a　cup　from　a　bit　of　golden…brown　birch　bark　and　filling　it　at　the　spring。

〃Drink　a　toast　in　that　water；　Sara；〃　said　Uncle　Blair。　　〃There's　not　a　doubt　that　it　has　some　potent　quality　of　magic　in　it　and　the　wish　you　wish　over　it　will　come　true。〃

The　Story　Girl　lifted　her　golden…hued　flagon　to　her　red　lips。　　Her　hazel　eyes　laughed　at　us　over　the　brim。

〃Here's　to　our　futures；〃　she　cried；　〃I　wish　that　every　day　of　our　lives　may　be　better　than　the　one　that　went　before。〃

〃An　extravagant　wisha　very　wish　of　youth；〃　commented　Uncle　Blair；　〃and　yet　in　spite　of　its　extravagance；　a　wish　that　will　come　true　if　you　are　true　to　yourselves。　　In　that　case；　every　day　WILL　be　better　than　all　that　went　beforebut　there　will　be　many　days；　dear　lad　and　lass；　when　you　will　not　believe　it。〃

We　did　not　understand　him；　but　we　knew　Uncle　Blair　never　explained　his　meaning。　　When　asked　it　he　was　wont　to　answer　with　a　smile；　〃Some　day　you'll　grow　to　it。　　Wait　for　that。〃　So　we　addressed　ourselves　to　follow　the　brook　that　stole　away　from　the　spring　in　its　windings　and　doublings　and　tricky　surprises。

〃A　brook；〃　quoth　Uncle　Blair；　〃is　the　most　changeful；　bewitching；　lovable　thing　in　the　world。　　It　is　never　in　the　same　mind　or　mood　two　minutes。　　Here　it　is　sighing　and　murmuring　as　if　its　heart　were　broken。　　But　listenyonder　by　the　birches　it　is　laughing　as　if　it　were　enjoying　some　capital　joke　all　by　itself。〃

It　was　indeed　a　changeful　brook；　here　it　would　make　a　pool；　dark　and　brooding　and　still；　where　we　bent　to　look　at　our　mirrored　faces；　then　it　grew　communicative　and　gossiped　shallowly　over　a　broken　pebble　bed　where　there　was　a　diamond　dance　of　sunbeams　and　no　troutling　or　minnow　could　glide　through　without　being　seen。　　Sometimes　its　banks　were　high　and　steep；　hung　with　slender　ashes　and　birches；　again　they　were　mere；　low　margins；　green　with　delicate　mosses；　shelving　out　of　the　wood。　　Once　it　came　to　a　little　precipice　and　flung　itself　over　undauntedly　in　an　indignation　of　foam；　gathering　itself　up　rather　dizzily　among　the　mossy　stones　below。　　It　was　some　time　before　i