Annie Laurie and Azalea

by Elia Wilkinson Peattie

There was an eagle hanging over the valley, strong, and calm, and sure. Three buzzards sat on a blasted pine and shook their evil heads; a king snake gave them a chase and got away from them in spite of their best endeavors. And still the little path went on and on. It passed by a deserted house, where the bats hung from the roof. It wound by wooded hills and fields that once had been tilled, but had perhaps proved too unfertile, and so been left; it crept on up the farther mountain,—the unknown mountain—and still coaxed, and lured, and solicited; and the boys kept on.

Their brown, dusty feet had grown weary and their throats were dry when at length they came upon a cabin. They weren’t sure at first whether it was lived in or not. The heavy shutters—there were no windows—were closed, but the door stood slightly ajar. The chimney, which was made of field stone held together with the red clay of the field, blossomed like a garden with ferns and vines. The yard was bare of grass, but the old stone wall round about it was overgrown with green things, though it was still so early in the year, and the myrtle and mimosa showed their green beside that of the laurel and rhododendron. There was a small well with a sweep, and on the bench lay a broken gourd which had been used as a drinking cup. But over the place was the deepest silence, save for one early bee which made a cheerful buzzing, and seemed to fairly boom, so still was the place.

“I say,” whispered Hi, “don’t it look spooky?”

“Maybe a hermit lives here,” Jim suggested.

“Or a skelington,” added Hi.

It was Hi who had the courage to push back the warped door and look in. Jim was a few feet behind him and he never forgot the yell of horror that came from Hi’s throat, a yell that had fear in it, fear for the next second’s happening. Jim heard a swishing and a hissing, and he knew. Neither formed the word “rattlers!” on their frozen tongues. Hi tried to leap backward and fell over a stub of a bush and lay prone. Jim seized his arm and dragged him along for a dozen feet, and even in the rush they could hear their hearts beating frantically. That swishing and hissing kept up. It seemed to grow louder. Hi turned himself and got on his feet like a monkey. They both ran without looking behind. And after they had started and had got away from the real danger, they began to fear imaginary evils. Panic was on them. With their blistered bare feet they sped on and on, taking no note of where they were going. Their throats, which had been dry to start with, became like paper. Their eyes bulged from their heads. They had started out great heroes, but they had undergone a transformation and were two terribly frightened and tired little boys.

Even as they sank exhausted beneath a pine tree they looked about them shudderingly for snakes, but seeing none they lay there and gasped, their hearts straining in their sides. Then, as their panting ceased, a soft noise struck their ears. It sounded very familiar, and yet in their utter bewilderment they could not at first tell what it was. The meaning penetrated first to Jim.

“A spring,” he whispered. “A spring!”

They made their way toward it, dragging their feet like weary dogs, and when they saw it, clear, cold and beautiful, gushing from the ground amid wild forget-me-nots, they sank on their knees and drank long. After that they lay still, staring at the sky. The world swam before them dreamily, the clouds rocked back and forth; they slept.

When they awoke it was dark. It was not just partly dark as it is most nights of the year. No, it was black. They might have been shut up in a black velvet box or lost in a large bottle of black ink. There was nothing above, below, around, so far as their sense could inform them. It was Jim who had opened his eyes first. At least, he thought he had opened them, but when he found he could see nothing at all he had his doubts about having done it. He felt of his eyelids. Yes, they were open, beyond doubt. Had he then suddenly gone blind? He couldn’t imagine why he should, and yet, judging from his present plight, it seemed probable.