The lights from the homemade candles fluttered softly against the brown walls. Far off, the whippoorwills called. The chill freshness of the night-enshrouded mountain stole in the door, and when the boys had returned from putting up the horses, the family shut out the silent, shadowy world about them and drew around the table. Their faces, earnest, eager, loving, came into the full light from the candle dips. And there, far into the night, Azalea talked to them, secure in her sense of love and peace.
Afterward, when they all had lighted her to her chamber, and then had left her, she stood for a while on her little gallery listening to the whippoorwills and looking at the low stars. It seemed as if messages of good will came from the birds, from the near dark forest, from the loud-singing stream. All was familiar and dear. And her fragrant chamber welcomed her with the silent sweetness to be found only in well-loved rooms.
CHAPTER XIV
THE SACRIFICE
Among the wide acres of the Atherton place was a certain field known since the memory of the grandfathers as “The Field of Arrows.” It was a level, sunny spot, surrounded by low hills. It backed, indeed, against a hill, and a little stream with mirror-like pools ran around it with scythe-like grace. The Field of Arrows was almost a semicircle, and it was as pleasant a spot as any around about Lee, beautiful though that region was.
It had taken its name from the great number of flint arrowheads, the handicraft of the Cherokees or of some earlier race, who had camped or fought in that spot. Perhaps they had raised their maize there too. At any rate, the good Indian corn was growing there now, putting up its blade-like leaves courageously to the young summer air. Midway of the field, that is to say, reaching from the center of its base and running to the highest point of its circle, a fine broad pathway stretched, and beside this path poppies and daisies, mint and mountain pinks had leave to grow when their hour should come. The path led from the stepping stones and the shady cove where the kettles and tubs stood for washing, to a cabin with two picturesque outside chimneys made of the field stone and the reliable red clay, which held them together with brave determination. A light gallery ran in front of the house, with benches made of stout ash, pushed back against the wall, and that best of drinking cups, a long-handled, polished gourd, hung on the wall above an old Indian water jar, hollowed from soapstone.
Within were four rooms of equal size, and back of the house was a summer kitchen. And everything about the place, from the latticed passageway that led to the kitchen, to the serviceable crane that swung in the chief fireplace, spoke of home and comfort. The little windows looked out on a prosperous scene; the mulberry tree, with its golden bark, had places of hiding and nestling for half a dozen children. The bowlders in the stream sheltered ideal swimming holes. The chestnut and butternut trees on the hill behind the house suggested happy autumn days.
“It will be a perfect place for children,” decided Mrs. Carson. “And that’s where Hi’s family shall live.”
She had taken him to see it, and he had looked at it with eyes which seemed to recognize it as a home returned to, rather than as one just found.
So, while he and Mr. Carson took their three days’ journey to Hi’s home, Mrs. Carson busied herself with the cabin. The lattice was freshly whitewashed; the fireplaces within the house and the chimneys that ran up visibly to the ceiling, were painted a dark red. The floors and walls were purified, and the whole place furnished with new, strong mountain furniture. Rag rugs were put on the floor, fresh curtains at the windows, a good stove set up in the kitchen, the comfortable beds were provided with new bedding, and a fine little old clock, taken from the attic of The Shoals, and a mirror from the same place, in its antique frame, were set in place.
“Tell your mother to come right along,” Mrs. Carson had warned Hi. “If she has any particular treasure she wishes to bring, well and good. But she’s not to bother about anything else. She’ll be glad to have new things to look at. Women get dreadfully tired looking at the same furniture day in and day out. I believe a new outfit for the house at the right time would have kept many a woman from going insane.”