Американская трагедия

Chapter 47

           Robertatrailingherhandinthewater,askinghimifhethoughttheymightfindsomewater-liliesorwildflowerssomewhereonshore.Water-lilies!Wildflowers!Andheconvincinghimselfashewentthattherewerenoroads,cabins,tents,paths,anythingintheformofahabitationamongthesetall,close,rankingpinesnotraceofanylittleboatonthewidespreadsurfaceofthisbeautifullakeonthisbeautifulday.Yetmighttherenotbesomelone,solitaryhunterandtrapperorguideorfishermaninthesewoodsoralongthesebanks?Mighttherenotbe?Andsupposingtherewereoneherenowsomewhere?Andwatching!

           Fate!

           Destruction!

           Death!Yetnosoundandnosmoke.Onlyonlythesetall,dark,greenpinesspear-shapedandstill,withhereandthereadeadoneashenpaleinthehardafternoonsun,itsgaunt,saplessarmsalmostmenacinglyoutstretched.

           Death!

           Andthesharpmetalliccryofablue-jayspeedinginthedepthsofthesewoods.Ortheloneandghostlytap-tap-tapofsomesolitarywoodpecker,withnowandthentheredlineofaflyingtanager,theyellowandblackofayellow-shoulderedblackbird.

           "Oh,thesunshinesbrightinmyoldKentuckyhome."

           ItwasRobertasingingcheerfully,onehandinthedeepbluewater.

           Andthenalittlelater—"I’llbethereSundayifyouwill,"oneofthepopulardancepiecesoftheday.

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