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Updated: August 11, 2024
"What, could have happened there, that I had not been missed? Father was absent from Redleaf. Bernard McKey was coming down the walk. I hid in the shrubbery, and let him pass. Oh, would that I had spoken to him, then, there! It would have saved so much misery on the round globe! "But I did not.
I lost my way, blinded in seeking to penetrate the mystery, and was brought back to Redleaf by two welcome events: the cup Chloe brought, and the letter Aaron gave, with a beseeching of pardon for having forgotten to give it in the morning. I read my letter, interluding it with little commas of sipping at the cup. It was from my father, very brief, but somewhat stirring.
Axtell had gone, no one knew whither. It was late at night, when a letter came for Doctor Percival by a special messenger. I never saw it. I only know that in it Mr. Axtell explained his intention of absence, and wrote, for his sister's sake, to make arrangements for her future. She was to return to Redleaf, at such time as she chose to go hence, with Mr.
"Oh, Sophie! you know what I mean." "Well, I confess to liking a higher development of intellectual nature than I find in Redleaf, but I feel that I belong to it, I ought to be here; and feeling atones for much lack of mind, it gets up higher, nearer into the soul. You know, Anna, we ought to love Redleaf. Look across that maple-grove." "What is there?" "Chimneys." "Well, what of them?"
I stayed a moment to say a few comforting words to the dog. Kino saw me safely outside of the gate by way of gratitude. I walked on toward the parsonage. Redleaf seemed very silent, almost deserted. I met none of the villagers in my homeward walk.
Mr. Axtell held it for her, whilst slowly she took the gruel. Doctor Eaton came in. "How is this?" he asked; "we shall take great skill and credit to our individual self for this recovery. Now tell me, Miss Lettie, am I not the very best physician in all Redleaf?"
What I might see there surely could offend no one, unless it were the deity of Coal, and Redleaf was not near any carboniferous group. Peculiar were the forms the fire took an elfish pleasure in assuming.
Philip Bailey's "Mystic" is more comprehensible to me. This is a practical, matter-of-fact world; I know it is. Sophie Percival, my sister, is the wife of Aaron Wilton, country-clergyman in Redleaf, nothing more; and I thought of my untasted cup of tea, in which lay condensed all the fragrance of Wooeshan hill-sides. "Why not take your tea, Anna?"
"This bit of paper, found in New York, had once been integral with that I had found within the church-yard tower in Redleaf," some inner voice assured me. "Yes, it is a part of it," I said, for I distinctly remembered the fragment whose possession I had so rejoiced over. Some one had written a letter to Miss Axtell; the envelope was torn, one part there, another here.
She stopped as soon as I went in. I wish she would come out in Redleaf." "And the mother?" "A proud old lady, sick these many years, and, ever since we've been here, confined to her room. I've only seen her twice." "And now she's dead?" Sophie was silent. "Who'll dig her grave?" One of my bits of mental foam that strike the shore of sound. "Anna, how queer you are growing!
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