Jonas Lee [pp. 33-39]

Jonas Lee.
tired and heated.
At last night came on. Gradually the
sun sank behind the western hills; the birds
stopped their warbling, and the ceaseless
hum of insects was the only sotund. Jonas
lay down by the roadside and tried to sleep.
A mournful prayer wavered from his lips,
and soon he slumbered. The hours of the
night slowly crept away, and at last the sun
began to send before him indications of the
dawn.
Then Jonas awoke. His joints were stiff
from the unwonted exposure, and he was
faint from hunger, for since the noon of two
days before, no food had passed his lips.
He tried to go on, but after a few hours
his tired limbs refused to perform their
office. He was loath to present his infirmity to the world, so he went from the road
into a piece of woods near by and feebly
reclined on the springy turf. Soon he fell
asleep, and the sun continued on his course.
Once more evening came on. At last
Jonas awoke, and essayed to continue his
journey, with a desperate conviction that
he must get to some village and beg something to eat. Presently a turn in the road
disclosed a little collection of houses,
nestled cosily in a grove of fruit trees, all
in full bloom, and filling the air with the
sweet fragrance of their pink and white
flowers. But each house was peopled by a
family; and laughing children looked out
with wonder at the tired looking old man
who hobbled so painfully by. So he was
reluctant to ask charity, and passed slowly
through the little village, by the church and
its quaint, simple graveyard. And he thought
as he looked at the mounds of turf that
were sprinkled so plentifully, and at the
white headstones, that but for a great neglect he should be now lying under the sod,
at peace in the quiet of the spring evening.
So he slowly went on.
Presently he seemed to have passed
through the village and to have come once
more to the open country, when he saw a
little cottage, almost hidden under the ivy
that climbed over its gray walls, and behind
the thick lilac bushes and blossoming apple
and cherry trees. In front was a little garden, which reminded Jonas of his own, now
so far away. In the garden was an old
woman who was bending over some early
roses. She was a hospitable looking person,
although only a part of her face was visible,
and at sight of her Jonas felt a recurrence
of his original motive. So he went in
through the little wicker gate, and came
and stood near her. But speech failed him,
so he hung his head and waited.
The old dame did not look up, so gentle
had been the sound of footsteps on the soft
ground. She still bent over the rose-bush,
apparently examining its leaves. She had a
tender, anxious look in her face, and a
certain peace and dignity attended her as
though sorrow had set his mark upon her.
Still she did not look up, and Jonas felt
himself growing faint and dizzy, yet could
not summon up the courage to speak.
At last she turned and saw, though seemingly without surprise, the stranger by her
side. As she looked at his features, a
change came over her expression, a faint
blush rose to her cheeks, and she exclaimed
"Jonas, is that you?"
But Jonas stared at her and passed his
hand over his eyes, and looked again; still
he said not a word, and she hastened towards
him, for he looked so weak and weary. She
led him gently, her eyes brimming tears, to
the vine-bowered porch, and just as they
reached it he sank down heavily, as though
in a faint. When he came to himself he
saw her tender eyes looking anxiously into
his, and with a deep sigh of content he murmured "Mary!" For some time neither
spoke, and she gently slipped away; but reappeared with a smoking bowl of porridge and a cup-of tea. These she set before Jonas, who proceeded to quickly devour
them. But his face had a half-puzzled
though peaceful expression, and happiness
/
[Jan.