To her, on her first Thanksgiving away from her cheerful home, there was something positively uncanny in the silence which settled down over the house; even the old yellow dog, with his nose between his front paws, slept soundly, and the great red rooster that had lighted upon the forked stick that before the back door had held the farm milk-pails for more 152 than a century, instead of calling for his Thanksgiving breakfast, as orthodox New England roosters are expected to do, just flapped his wings lazily, and turned a much becombed head imploringly toward the kitchen window.
What was to be done with the long, dull festival day? Marion may be forgiven if she cast many longing thoughts back to the academy, to the pleasant bustle that filled the long corridors, the merry laughs of the girls, the endless chatter, the coming and the going that seemed to her never to cease. She was homesick to see Miss Ashton, her room-mates, and Helen, over whose daily life she had already installed herself as responsible for its comforts and its pleasures, and who, homeless and poor, remained almost by herself in the great empty building.
She was not, however, left long in doubt as to the day’s occupations. Hardly had the breakfast dishes been put away, when Aunt Betty said,—
“Meetin’ begins at ten. We hain’t got no bell, and we’ll start in season. You can put on your things.”
The clock said nine; meeting began at ten. Five minutes were all she needed for preparation. Here was time for a few lines at least of that Greek tragedy. She had read one line, when the door opened, and there stood Aunt Betty.
“Listen, Aunt Betty!” she said. “Hear how soft these words are.” Then she rattled off line after line of the chorus. This is Greek, she said, 153 pausing to take breath. “Listen! I will translate for you.”
She carried her book to the oriel window, so the light would fall more clearly on its page, and began,—
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“Before the mirror’s golden round, Curious my braided hair I bound, Adjusted for the night; And now, disrobed, for rest prepared, Sudden tumultuous cries are heard, And shrieks of wild affright. Grecians to Grecians shouting call, ‘Now let the haughty city fall; In dust her towers, her rampiers lay, And bear triumphant her rich spoils away.’” |
“Doesn’t that roll along sublimely? Can’t you hear the cries and the shouts of the Grecian host?”
“I can hear Marion Parke making a fool of herself. Be you, or be you not, goin’ to meetin’ with me?”