"Up, boy, up!" cried the lime-burner, staring about him. "ThankHeaven, the night is gone, at last; and rather than pass such another,I would watch my lime-kiln, wide awake, for a twelvemonth. ThisEthan Brand, with his humbug of an Unpardonable Sin, has done me nosuch mighty favor, in taking my place!"He issued from the hut, followed by little Joe, who kept fasthold of his father's hand. The early sunshine was already pouringits gold upon the mountain-tops; and though the valleys were stillin shadow, they smiled cheerfully in the promise of the bright daythat was hastening onward. The village, completely shut in by hills,which swelled away gently about it, looked as if it had restedpeacefully in the hollow of the great hand of Providence. Everydwelling was distinctly visible; the little spires of the two churchespointed upwards, and caught a fore-glimmering of brightness from thesun-gilt skies upon their gilded weather-cocks. The tavern wasastir, and the figure of the old, smoke-dried stage-agent, cigar inmouth, was seen beneath the stoop. Old Graylock was glorified with agolden cloud upon his head. Scattered likewise over the breasts of thesurrounding mountains, there were heaps of hoary mist, in fantasticshapes, some of them far down into the valley, others high uptowards the summits and still others, of the same family of mist orcloud, hovering in the gold radiance of the upper atmosphere. Steppingfrom one to another of the clouds that rested on the hills, and thenceto the loftier brotherhood that sailed in air, it seemed almost asif a mortal man might thus ascend into the heavenly regions. Earth wasso mingled with sky that it was a day-dream to look at it.
To supply that charm of the familiar and homely, which Nature soreadily adopts into a scene like this, the stage-coach was rattlingdown the mountain-road, and the driver sounded his horn, while echocaught up the notes, and intertwined them into a rich and varied andelaborate harmony, of which the original performer could lay claimto little share. The great hills played a concert among themselves,each contributing a strain of airy sweetness.
Little Joe's face brightened at once.
"Dear father," cried he, skipping cheerily to and fro, "thatstrange man is gone, and the sky and the mountains all seem glad ofit!""Yes," growled the lime-burner, with an oath, "but he has let thefire go down, and no thanks to him if five hundred bushels of lime arenot spoiled. If I catch the fellow hereabouts again, I shall feel liketossing him into the furnace!"With his long pole in his hand, he ascended to the top of the kiln.
After a moment's pause, he called to his son.
"Come up here, Joe!" said he.
So little Joe ran up the hillock, and stood by his father's side.
The marble was all burnt into perfect, snow-white lime. But on itssurface, in the midst of the circle- snow-white too, and thoroughlyconverted into lime- lay a human skeleton, in the attitude of a personwho, after long toil, lies down to long repose. Within the ribs-strange to say- was the shape of a human heart.
"Was the fellow's heart made of marble?" cried Bartram, in someperplexity at this phenomenon. "At any rate, it is burnt into whatlooks like special good lime; and, taking all the bones together, mykiln is half a bushel the richer for him."So saying, the rude lime-burner lifted his pole, and, letting itfall upon the skeleton, the relics of Ethan Brand were crumbled intofragments.
THE END
.
1852
TWICE-TOLD TALES
FEATHERTOP: A MORALIZED LEGEND
by Nathaniel Hawthorne
DICKON," cried Mother Rigby, "a coal for my pipe!" The pipe wasin the old dame's mouth when she said these words. She had thrust itthere after filling it with tobacco, but without stooping to lightit at the hearth, where indeed there was no appearance of a firehaving been kindled that morning. Forthwith, however, as soon as theorder was given, there was an intense red glow out of the bowl ofthe pipe, and a whiff of smoke from Mother Rigby's lips. Whence thecoal came, and how brought thither by an invisible hand, I havenever been able to discover.
"Good!" quoth Mother Rigby, with a nod of her head. "Thank ye,Dickon! And now for making this scarecrow. Be within call, Dickon,in case I need you again."The good woman had risen thus early (for as yet it wasscarcely sunrise) in order to set about making a scarecrow, whichshe intended to put in the middle of her corn-patch. It was now thelatter week of May, and the crows and blackbirds had alreadydiscovered the little, green, rolled-up leaf of the Indian corn justpeeping out of the soil. She was determined, therefore, to contrive aslifelike a scarecrow as ever was seen, and to finish it immediately,from top to toe, so that it should begin its sentinel's duty that verymorning. Now Mother Rigby (as everybody must have heard) was one ofthe most cunning and potent witches in New England, and might, withvery little trouble, have made a scarecrow ugly enough to frighten theminister himself. But on this occasion, as she had awakened in anuncommonly pleasant humor, and was further dulcified by her pipe oftobacco, she resolved to produce something fine, beautiful, andsplendid, rather than hideous and horrible.
"I don't want to set up a hobgoblin in my own corn-patch, andalmost at my own doorstep," said Mother Rigby to herself, puffingout a whiff of smoke; "I could do it if I pleased, but I'm tired ofdoing marvellous things, and so I'll keep within the bounds ofeveryday business just for variety's sake. Besides, there is no use inscaring the little children for a mile roundabout, though 'tis trueI'm a witch."It was settled, therefore, in her own mind, that the scarecrowshould represent a fine gentleman of the period, so far as thematerials at hand would allow. Perhaps it may be as well toenumerate the chief of the articles that went to the composition ofthis figure.
