Meadow Grass | Page 8

of heaven, but
lay where the splashing bucket and chain broke, every day, the image
of moss and fern. His throat grew parched and dry with longing.
When they were within three miles of the sea, it seemed to them that
they could taste the saltness of the incoming breeze; the road was
ankle-deep in dust; the garden flowers were glaring in their brightness.
It was a new world. And when at last they emerged from the
marsh-bordered road upon a ridge of sand, and turned a sudden corner,
Mrs. Pike faced her husband in triumph.
"There, father!" she cried. "There 'tis!"
But Eli's eyes were fixed on the dashboard in front of him. He looked
pale.
"Why, father," said she, impatiently, "ain't you goin' to look? It's the
sea!"
"Yes, yes," said Eli, quietly; "byme-by. I'm goin' to put the horses up
fust."
"Well, I never!" said Mrs. Pike; and as they drew up on the sandy tract
where Sereno had previously arranged a place for their tents, she added,
almost fretfully, turning to Hattie, "I dunno what's come over your
father. There's the water, an' he won't even cast his eyes at it."
But Hattie understood her father, by some intuition of love, though not
of likeness.
"Don't you bother him, ma," she said. "He'll make up his mind to it
pretty soon. Here, le's lift out these little things, while they're
unharnessin', and then they can get at the tents."
Mrs. Pike's mind was diverted by the exigencies of labor, and she said

no more; but after the horses had been put up at a neighboring house,
and Sereno, red-faced with exertion, had superintended the tent-raising,
Hattie slipped her arm through her father's, and led him away.
"Come, pa," she said, in a whisper; "le's you and me climb over on
them rocks."
Eli went; and when they had picked their way over sand and pools to a
headland where the water thundered below, and salt spray dashed up in
mist to their feet, he turned and looked at the sea. He faced it as a soul
might face Almighty Greatness, only to be stricken blind thereafter; for
his eyes filled painfully with slow, hot tears. Hattie did not look at him,
but after a while she shouted in his ear, above the outcry of the surf,--
"Here, pa, take my handkerchief. I don't know how 'tis about you, but
this spray gets in my eyes."
Eli took it obediently, but he did not speak; he only looked at the sea.
The two sat there, chilled and quite content, until six o'clock, when Mrs.
Pike came calling to them from the beach, with dramatic shouts,
emphasized by the waving of her ample apron,--
"Supper's ready! Sereno's built a bum-fire, an' I've made some tea!"
Then they slowly made their way back to the tents, and sat down to the
evening meal. Sereno seemed content, and Mrs. Pike was bustling and
triumphant; the familiar act of preparing food had given her the feeling
of home.
"Well, father, what think?" she asked, smiling exuberantly, as she
passed him his mug of tea. "Does it come up to what you expected?"
Eli turned upon her his mild, dazed eyes.
"I guess it does," he said, gently.
That night, they sat upon the shore while the moon rose and laid in the
water her majestic pathway of light. Eli was the last to leave the rocks,

and he lay down on his hard couch in the tent, without speaking.
"I wouldn't say much to father," whispered Hattie to her mother, as they
parted for the night. "He feels it more 'n we do."
"Well, I s'pose he is some tired," said Mrs. Pike, acquiescing, after a
brief look of surprise. "It's a good deal of a jaunt, but I dunno but I feel
paid a'ready. Should you take out your hair-pins, Hattie?"
She slept soundly and vocally, but her husband did not close his eyes.
He looked, though he could see nothing, through the opening in the tent,
in the direction where lay the sea, solemnly clamorous, eternally
responsive to some infinite whisper from without his world. The
tension of the hour was almost more than he could bear; he longed for
morning, in sharp suspense, with a faint hope that the light might bring
relief. Just as the stars faded, and one luminous line pencilled the east,
he rose, smoothed his hair, and stepped softly out upon the beach.
There he saw two shadowy figures, Sereno and Hattie. She hurried
forward to meet him.
"You goin' to see the sunrise, too, father?" she asked. "I made Sereno
come. He's awful mad at bein' waked up."
Eli grasped her arm.
"Hattie," he said, in a whisper, "don't you tell. I jest come out