Chapter VIII THE WORDLESS LETTERS
Close around the little village of Deer Cove, three mountain steeps looked down in everlasting peace; two upland valleys descended to the village, and held on their fertile slopes many small farms and hamlets. The houses of men employed in the saw-mill, which had created the village, lay within a nearer circle.
Of all this district the post-office at Deer Cove was the centre. The mill belonged to the Durgan Blounts, whose summer residence lay at some distance on the one road which threaded the descending ravine to the county town of Hilyard. All substance and knowledge which came to Deer Cove was hauled up this long, winding road from the unseen town, and halted at the post-office, which was also the general store and tavern. Thither the mill-hands, and an ever-changing group of poor whites, repaired for all refreshment of body and mind.
The rush of the stream, the whirr of the mill, the sigh of the wind-swept woods, the never-silent tinkling from the herds that roam the forests—these sounds mingled always with the constant talk that went on in the post-office. Here news of the outer world met with scant attention; but things concerning the region were discussed, weighed, and measured by the standard of the place. The wealth of a housekeeper was gauged by the goods he received direct from Hilyard and further markets, and his social importance by the number of his letters. A steady correspondence proved stability of connection and character; a telegram conferred distinction.
In the post-office young Blount, or even the magnificent old General himself, would not scruple to lounge for an hour at mail time, exchanging greetings with all who came thither. Durgan came of stiffer stuff; he could not unbend. He was also conscious that, as he never received letters, and as his lost lands were here little known, it was only the reflected importance of his cousins that kept him from being reckoned a "no account" person, and suffering the natural rudeness meted out to such unfortunates. He preferred to rely upon Adam to bring him his paper and such news as the village afforded. Adam went to the post every evening for Miss Smith.
There came a week of rain. The road to Hilyard was washed away by the first storm. The mail accumulated there, and when at last it could be brought to Deer, it was still raining. Durgan's cutting was flooded. Unable to work, he had paid a visit to his cousins, and returned one evening, through a thick cloud which clothed Deer like a cerement, to find Adam in the hut by the mine, seated before a hot fire.
In the light of the dancing flame, the big black man, all his clothes and hair dripping and glistening, was indeed a strange picture. He was wholly intent upon a row of papers and letters, which from time to time he moved carefully and turned before the blaze.
"It's all right, suh. I only clean done forgot to put the ladies' lettahs in de rubber bag they give me. It's a debble of a rain to-night, suh; it soak through all I hab, and there's a powerful lot of lettahs to-night, suh; a whole week o' lettahs, Marse Neil, so there is."