“I used to have a little brother,” said Miss Grimshaw as we set out; for the night previous, she had announced her intention of going with me. “Had Johnny lived, he would have been about your own age. We always intended to send him to college; for he loved books.”
But it was not a morning to be sad. A soft hazy atmosphere floated around us, and softened into beauty the distant landscape. The hills stretching away northward loomed up through their blue veil with almost the majesty of mountain ranges; the green of the pines on their crests, and the ragged lines of the wood which marked the courses of the descending ravines, were dimmed and robbed of their gloom. The valley was still fresh, and the great oaks by the brook had not yet shed all their tawny leaves. A moist and fragrant odor of decay pervaded the air, and the soft south wind occasionally stealing along the valley seemed to blow the sombre colors of the landscape into long-continued waves of brightness.
The hills, curving rapidly to the eastward, rose abruptly from the meadows in a succession of terraces, the lowest of which was faced with a wall of dark rock, in horizontal strata, but almost concealed from view by the tall forest-trees which grew at the base.
The brook, issuing from a glen which descended from the lofty upland region, poured itself headlong from the brink of the rocky steep, a glittering silver thread. Seen through the hazy atmosphere, its narrow white column seemed to stand motionless between the pines, and its mellowed mist to roll from some region beyond the hills.
“We shall see Rockdale presently,” said Miss Grimshaw. “I am sorry now that I did not let Jennie come. I did not think the walk would be so beautiful, and I was afraid it would make her sick.”
“If you are willing, I would like to have her take this walk some time; it would please her so much; neither do I think it would tire her. We have both been accustomed to long walks. I have been to the top of the highest point, and Jennie was familiar with almost every rock about Mrs. Jeffries’.”
“She shall come,” continued Miss Grimshaw. “But there’s the academy. It used to be only a private dwelling; but the owner died, and Mr. Harlan, our minister then, thought it would be a good place for a school. Terryville, just beyond, is much larger than our village, and most of the boys board there.”
By this time we were near the house, a white two-story building, with a broad veranda looking southward from the last low shelf of the hills, with an ample school-room in the rear, and grounds fitted up with arbors, rustic seats, swings, and all the paraphernalia of school life. The avenue by which we approached was lined with maples, and on our advance we passed clumps of lilacs and snowballs. But the house itself, with its heavy windows and flagged walk before the door, was just the same as before, Miss Grimshaw said. A few bunches of asters nodded their welcome, and the chrysanthemums on the borders stood as erect as though school-boys never passed them. We had reached the porch before Mr. Harlan saw us.
“And this is Marston Howe,” he said, after greeting Miss Grimshaw with marked kindness. “I am glad to see you, Marston; they tell me that you are fond of books, and determined to study. Is that so?”
“I shall do my best, sir,” was all that I could say, while it seemed that his eyes would look me through.