Мхи старої садиби
Roger Malvin's Burial
Thefaceofthecountry,forthelastfewmiles,hadbeendiversifiedbyswellsoflandresemblinghugewavesofapetrifiedsea;andinoneofthecorrespondinghollows,awildandromanticspot,hadthefamilyrearedtheirhutandkindledtheirfire.Thereissomethingchilling,andyetheart-warming,inthethoughtofthesethree,unitedbystrongbandsofloveandinsulatedfromallthatbreathebeside.Thedarkandgloomypineslookeddownuponthem,and,asthewindsweptthroughtheirtops,apityingsoundwasheardintheforest;ordidthoseoldtreesgroaninfearthatmenwerecometolaytheaxetotheirrootsatlast?Reubenandhisson,whileDorcasmadereadytheirmeal,proposedtowanderoutinsearchofgame,ofwhichthatday’smarchhadaffordednosupply.Theboy,promisingnottoquitthevicinityoftheencampment,boundedoffwithastepaslightandelasticasthatofthedeerhehopedtoslay;whilehisfather,feelingatransienthappinessashegazedafterhim,wasabouttopursueanoppositedirection.Dorcasinthemeanwhile,hadseatedherselfneartheirfireoffallenbranchesuponthemossgrownandmoulderingtrunkofatreeuprootedyearsbefore.Heremployment,diversifiedbyanoccasionalglanceatthepot,nowbeginningtosimmerovertheblaze,wastheperusalofthecurrentyear’sMassachusettsAlmanac,which,withtheexceptionofanoldblack-letterBible,comprisedalltheliterarywealthofthefamily.
