FullReads

From between the slats of the blinds she had a view of the road as it wended across the meadow to the woods, and again where it reappeared crossing the hill, half a mile away. It lay yellow and warm in the summer sunshine. From the long grasses of the meadow came the rhythmic click of the insects. Occasional frogs in the hidden brook made a peculiar chug-chug sound, as if somebody throttled them. The leaves of the wood swung in gentle winds. Through the dark-green branches of the pines that grew in the front yard could be seen the mountains, far to the south-east, and inexpressibly blue.

Mary’s eyes were fastened upon the little streak of road that appeared on the distant hill. Her face was flushed with excitement, and the hand which stretched in a strained pose on the sill trembled because of the nervous shaking of the wrist. The pines whisked their green needles with a soft, hissing sound against the house.

At last the girl turned from the window and went to the head of the stairs.”Well, I just know they’re coming, anyhow,” she cried argumentatively to the depths.

A voice from below called to her angrily: “They ain’t. We’ve never seen one yet. They never come into this neighbourhood. You just come down here and ‘tend to your work insteader watching for soldiers.”

“Well, ma, I just know they’re coming.”

A voice retorted with the shrillness and mechanical violence of occasional housewives. The girl swished her skirts defiantly and returned to the window.

Upon the yellow streak of road that lay across the hillside there now was a handful of black dots–horsemen. A cloud of dust floated away. The girl flew to the head of the stairs and whirled down into the kitchen.

“They’re coming! They’re coming!”

It was as if she had cried “Fire!” Her mother had been peeling potatoes while seated comfortably at the table. She sprang to her feet.”No–it can’t be–how you know it’s them–where?” The stubby knife fell from her hand, and two or three curls of potato skin dropped from her apron to the floor.

The girl turned and dashed upstairs. Her mother followed, gasping for breath, and yet contriving to fill the air with questions, reproach, and remonstrance. The girl was already at the window, eagerly pointing. “There! There! See ’em! See ’em!”

Rushing to the window, the mother scanned for an instant the road on the hill. She crouched back with a groan.”It’s them, sure as the world! It’s them!” She waved her hands in despairing gestures.

The black dots vanished into the wood. The girl at the window was quivering and her eyes were shining like water when the sun flashes. “Hush! They’re in the woods! They’ll be here directly.” She bent down and intently watched the green archway whence the road emerged.”Hush! I hear ’em coming,” she swiftly whispered to her mother, for the elder woman had dropped dolefully upon the mattress and was sobbing. And, indeed, the girl could hear the quick, dull trample of horses. She stepped aside with sudden apprehension, but she bent her head forward in order to still scan the road.

“Here they are!”

There was something very theatrical in the sudden appearance of these men to the eyes of the girl. It was as if a scene had been shifted. The forest suddenly disclosed them–a dozen brown-faced troopers in blue–galloping.

“Oh, look!” breathed the girl. Her mouth was puckered into an expression of strange fascination, as if she had expected to see the troopers change into demons and gloat at her. She was at last looking upon those curious beings who rode down from the North–those men of legend and colossal tale–they who were possessed of such marvellous hallucinations.