Such things as these may seem apart and not of much interest, and very likely that is true enough; but to me they were everything, making up as they did my life when young, as they do, in fact, the lives of most country-bred youths. Looking back to it now, from under a fast-fading sun, its quiet and beauty, peaceful beyond measure, cause a sigh of regret as at some far-off vision that can never return, nor anything like unto it. When I had been in my new home some weeks, Mr. Blake fell into a habit of gazing upon me in a fixed, heavy way for hours at a time, and as if grieved at something beyond expression. Anxious as to the cause, I lost no time in speaking to Mrs. Blake about it, and what she said I thought remarkable; nor could I by any means understand it, or any part of it, so little do the young know the springs of human sympathy or liking. For it seemed that at the time of Constance's and my first visit great patches of freckles covered my face, and in these Mr. Blake saw a dear resemblance to his dead son, who, it appeared, was similarly marked. Now, with return of strength, the freckles one by one fading out of my face, he watched their going with surprise at first and then with grief, until in the end, all being gone, it seemed to him as if he had lost his son anew. Encouraged by his wife, however, he after a while overcame his despondency, treating me with gentle kindness, as before, but never, I thought, with the warmth I had noticed in him at first. Mrs. Blake, happily, having no such cause of disappointment, grew in her liking for me, so she would often say, with each passing day. The reason of this was, I think, that matronly women, such as she, when deprived of children, ever thus regard with increasing interest the thing, whatever it may be, which they set apart to fill the void in their lives. Thus she regarded me, and each day redoubled her efforts to win my love, and in this was so completely successful that as long as she lived I never ceased to regard her with the tender affection her great heart merited.
One fair day soon after my coming, Constance rode out to make us a visit, emerging from the shadows of the trees like an angel of light, which indeed she was; for straightway the place seemed as if enchanted. Giving her scarce a minute to greet Mrs. Blake, I hurried her away to show her the farm, but more that I might have her to myself during the short time she was to stay. Forgetful of all else except the happiness of being together, we wandered hand in hand in the edge of the forest, till at last, tired out, we sat down beneath an oak to watch the sky and sleeping clouds—except, indeed, when we were looking into each other's faces, which I know was the case most of the time. This until long after the hour when she should have started for home. Then, hastening, I brought her horse, and mounting one myself, rode beside her to the door of the Dragon, which we reached soon after dark. Returning as in a trance, I could not believe it night or that I was alone, for the sky was ablaze with stars, every one of which seemed to reflect back her image or to be the brighter for her having seen it.
The beauty of the Blakes' surroundings was such as one does not often meet with at this time, though it was common enough before the forests that lined the great river were disturbed by the hand of man. On every side the farm was bordered about by tangled shrubbery and overhanging trees, and now, it being autumn, they were tinged with a thousand shades of color, not one remaining steadfast, but shifting with the varying light, revealing some new beauty with each changing reflection of the sun. On one side, upon a ridge of sand, oaks with gnarled and rugged sides lifted their giant forms, and about the other borders boxwood and ash, mingled with maple and elm, grew in picturesque confusion. Near by, on the very edges of the farm, elders and a thousand vagrant bushes struggled to outdo each other in growth and show of beauty. Farther out, in the stubble of the field, fat weeds, green as in midsummer, uplifted their heads defiantly, as if shouting to the passer-by, "See! after all, nothing comes of thrift." In the meadow, and in homely confusion, wild sunflowers and rosin-weeds projected their stems high in the air, and upon these meadowlarks and bobolinks sat and sang the day through.
To one side of the farm, and along an old and abandoned highway, grasses and flowers spread quite across the sunken road, and on both its sides bushes crowded forward in confusion and such precipitancy of haste that in many places one could scarce make headway. Above this scramble of green the trees spread their limbs, and the sky peering down between their slender branches looked like a glimpse of some far-off summer sea.
CHAPTER XXXV
CONSPIRACY IN BLACK HAWK'S CABIN
Among other things, Mrs. Blake never tired of speaking of the great chief Black Hawk, and more particularly of his wife, whom she regarded with tender love. Black Hawk she thought a kingly man, and it was vastly to his honor, she maintained, woman-like and truly, that he had taken to himself but one wife, remaining faithful throughout to her whom he had won in his youth.
"Were you greatly harassed by the war?" I asked her one day.
"No, for at the commencement Black Hawk sent an Indian runner to us to say we would not be molested; nor were we."
"How did he happen to do that?" I asked, surprised.