Мхи старой усадьбы
Roger Malvin's Burial
Whoseguilthadblastedit?
Dorcas,afterthedepartureofthetwohunters,continuedherpreparationsfortheireveningrepast.Hersylvantablewasthemoss-coveredtrunkofalargefallentree,onthebroadestpartofwhichshehadspreadasnow-whiteclothandarrangedwhatwereleftofthebrightpewtervesselsthathadbeenherprideinthesettlements.IthadastrangeaspectthatonelittlespotofhomelycomfortinthedesolateheartofNature.Thesunshineyetlingereduponthehigherbranchesofthetreesthatgrewonrisingground;buttheshadowsofeveninghaddeepenedintothehollowwheretheencampmentwasmade,andthefirelightbegantoreddenasitgleamedupthetalltrunksofthepinesorhoveredonthedenseandobscuremassoffoliagethatcircledroundthespot.TheheartofDorcaswasnotsad;forshefeltthatitwasbettertojourneyinthewildernesswithtwowhomshelovedthantobealonelywomaninacrowdthatcarednotforher.Asshebusiedherselfinarrangingseatsofmoulderingwood,coveredwithleaves,forReubenandherson,hervoicedancedthroughthegloomyforestinthemeasureofasongthatshehadlearnedinyouth.Therudemelody,theproductionofabardwhowonnoname,wasdescriptiveofawintereveninginafrontiercottage,when,securedfromsavageinroadbythehigh-piledsnow-drifts,thefamilyrejoicedbytheirownfireside.Thewholesongpossessedthenamelesscharmpeculiartounborrowedthought,butfourcontinually-recurringlinesshoneoutfromtherestliketheblazeofthehearthwhosejoystheycelebrated.
