Червона літера
A Forest Walk
Lettingtheeyesfollowalongthecourseofthestream,theycouldcatchthereflectedlightfromitswater,atsomeshortdistancewithintheforest,butsoonlostalltracesofitamidthebewildermentoftree-trunksandunderbush,andhereandthereahugerockcoveredoverwithgraylichens.Allthesegianttreesandbouldersofgraniteseemedintentonmakingamysteryofthecourseofthissmallbrook;fearing,perhaps,that,withitsnever-ceasingloquacity,itshouldwhispertalesoutoftheheartoftheoldforestwhenceitflowed,ormirroritsrevelationsonthesmoothsurfaceofapool.Continually,indeed,asitstoleonward,thestreamletkeptupababble,kind,quiet,soothing,butmelancholy,likethevoiceofayoungchildthatwasspendingitsinfancywithoutplayfulness,andknewnothowtobemerryamongsadacquaintanceandeventsofsombrehue.
"Oh,brook!Oh,foolishandtiresomelittlebrook!"criedPearl,afterlisteningawhiletoitstalk,"Whyartthousosad?Pluckupaspirit,anddonotbeallthetimesighingandmurmuring!"
Butthebrook,inthecourseofitslittlelifetimeamongtheforesttrees,hadgonethroughsosolemnanexperiencethatitcouldnothelptalkingaboutit,andseemedtohavenothingelsetosay.Pearlresembledthebrook,inasmuchasthecurrentofherlifegushedfromawell-springasmysterious,andhadflowedthroughscenesshadowedasheavilywithgloom.But,unlikethelittlestream,shedancedandsparkled,andprattledairilyalonghercourse.
"Whatdoesthissadlittlebrooksay,mother?inquiredshe.
