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Updated: June 25, 2025
After that alteration it made a beautiful salting-machine, if you held tight, because there was nothing to catch your feet when you fell out, and the slats rattled tunes. One Sunday afternoon we went out with the salt as usual.
The old farm-house was a barrack-like building, dilapidated, and showing no signs of having lately furnished a job for the painter, and standing in an arena surrounded by an enclosure of rough slats. Close examination disclosed fragments of gardening in the arena, but they showed the unmistakable evidences of carelessness.
He turned and looked back; he seemed to Anastasia to look between the little blistered slats into her very eyes.
He rose softly to see who those strange burglars could be, who were leaving the house instead of entering it; and this is what he saw through the slats of his blind: A tall, slender young man, with Georges's figure and carriage, arm-in-arm with a woman in a lace mantilla. They stopped first at the bench by the Paulownia, which was in full bloom. It was a superb moonlight night.
This she opened quietly and tilted the slats so they could look down in the yard behind the barn. There sat Jeb with a few loose pages from a pamphlet in his hands. He was memorizing the words, and as he did so he mumbled them.
To this day the odour of matting brings back to Honora the sense of closed shutters; of a stifling south wind stirring their slats at noonday; the vision of Aunt Mary, cool and placid in a cambric sacque, sewing by the window in the upper hall, and the sound of fruit venders crying in the street, or of ragmen in the alley "Rags, bottles, old iron!"
Wagons, carts, horses, and peasants were crowded together as only such a throng is mixed in pilgrimages, wars, and fairs. Women were taking down hoods, unharnessing the horses, fitting slats into outsides of wagons, rolling up blankets, unpacking from the char-a-bancs cooking utensils, children, grain-bags, long columns of bread, and hard-boiled eggs.
He jumped out of bed, and stuffed some shavings into his stove from the wood-box beside it, and laid some logs on them; he slid the damper open, and then lay down again, listening to the fire that showed its red teeth through the slats and roared and laughed to the day which sparkled on the white world without.
The Marsh was slowly turning from a strange papery grey to green. The sky changed from white to blue, and suddenly became smeared with ruddy clouds. At once the watercourses lit up, streaking across the green in fiery slats the shaking boughs of the willows became full of fire, and at the turn of the road the windows of Ansdore shone as if it were burning. There it stood at the road's bend.
One clear, warm morning a week later Henley stood in the little porch in front of his store and glanced up the street which gave into the road that led on to his farm. In the store Cahews was nailing the top slats on a coop of scrambling, squawking chickens, and with a pot of lampblack and brush was marking it for shipment to Atlanta.
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