“_A Valley So Sweet._”
Mrs. North had decided to drive to a place a few miles distant called
the Falls, there to take supper and remain all night.
And Mike was on his way to the stables to hitch up, as he called it,
when the amazing spectacle just described burst upon his astonished
sight. At once he jumped to the conclusion that the goat was trying to
make mince-meat of Sally’s beloved Teddy bear. And springing forward—he
seized Dick by his horns, yanked him to his feet and drove him off to
the stables. Then returning he picked up Bedelia, no longer pirouetting
like a ballet girl, but suddenly grown mute and stiff, and carried her
to the kitchen, where Mrs. Hale took her in charge.
The children were now in a flutter of excitement over the proposed trip
to the Falls. Sally insisted on taking Peter Pan, and presently they
were all comfortably stowed away in a springy country carriage, rolling
along toward the Falls.
Mike, who had been born and brought up in that part of the country,
made a most interesting courier and stopped now and then to point
out with his whip some place of especial interest, which he at once
proceeded to describe in whimsical language all his own. For the
Irish strain in his blood had gifted him with both wit and humor and
there was very little of the comical side of things that Mike did not
discover.
[Illustration]
But the climax of all interest was finally reached when Mike pointed
out a gently swelling hill topped by a lofty oak, at the summit of
which he declared was the grave of Cuyahoga, the great Indian chief,
from whom the beautiful valley and laughing river both had been named.
Further on they struck the Indian trail along which the savages
portaged their canoes from the Cuyahoga to the Tuscarawas rivers.
Miss Palmer, who was sentimental, drew forth a pencil and tablet, and
proceeded pensively to jot down her poetic impressions, while Peter Pan
whispered very slyly to Bob that his friend, the crow, whose name was
Tim, had come along, although not invited. And sure enough there he
was, roosting comfortably and unobserved on the tail-board of the wagon.
So the happy little party proceeded on their leisurely way through
the lovely country, beautiful with “the new green and the stress of
spring,” until suddenly as they swung around a curve in the road, the
great gorge of the Cuyahoga lay spread out before them in all its
majestic grandeur.
Here through a great chasm rent in the walls of living rock by some
mighty convulsions of Nature leaped the mystic river, clothed in her
sheen of sparkling foam as a maid in her bridal veil. Dimpling and
murmuring, it pursued its sparkling way over the rocks that lined its
bed, murmuring in its shallows, thundering at last over the mighty
Falls, and from thence tumbling into a sun kissed, mossy basin from
which it wound away, a placid stream laughing and whispering into the
blue distance.
The children had stood up to obtain a better view and Bob reverently
removed his cap, seized by the same feeling that always moved him when
he stood in church and saw the vested choir sweep up the aisle bearing
at their head the great golden cross.
Miss Palmer fell to writing poetry more briskly than before and Tim,
who was now perched comfortably on the back of the seat, leaned over
and whispered to Peter Pan that it was a great place for worms.
To reach their destination was now a matter of but a few moments, and
as the drive had not been long enough to tire them, the children, under
the guidance of Mike, departed for a walk along the river and a visit
to the Old Maid’s Kitchen, a queer cave in the vicinity that took its
name from a natural fireplace of rock which it contained.
Mrs. North went indoors to arrange for suitable rooms and Miss Palmer
retired to a secluded corner of the piazza to polish up her verses
to Cuyahoga. And so it happened that Peter Pan and Tim were left to
their own devices, which opportunity they improved by promptly falling
asleep. It was evident that they intended to get busy later on.
At supper time the children returned flushed and enthusiastic over the
wonders that they had unearthed. They had investigated the Old Maid’s
Kitchen and Bob thought it would be a bully place to eat luncheon on
the following day. They had walked along the river bank and at a point
a good deal further up had been ferried across by a little old man with
a beard like Rip Van Winkle in a little old boat that was propelled by
an endless chain. They had found trailing arbutus hiding away under
last year’s leaves and red partridge berries and shy dog-tooth violets
and Bob’s pockets were full of treasures of more or less doubtful
value, but all dear to his quaint little soul.
And oh, how hungry they were, and what a supper they disposed of.
[Illustration: After him followed his countless braves.]
Tired as they were after their long ramble they begged Miss Palmer to
read aloud her poem before they went to sleep. And after a little
coaxing, which was warmly joined in by Mrs. North, Miss Palmer produced
her tablets and read aloud these lines.
TO CUYAHOGA.
He sleeps on the hillside’s grassy slope,
Who once was a king in the land;
And few can point out his lonely bed,
Unmarked save by Nature’s hand;
The blue waters ripple, the sweet valley smiles,
The valley that bears his name,
And serenely he rests, tho’ his unknown grave
Is unmarked by the laurels of fame.
Mrs. North was greatly pleased and surprised by the impromptu lines and
both children declared their intention of learning them by heart, after
which there were kisses all round and the little folks trotted serenely
off to slumberland.
The house stood upon a high cliff overlooking the valley, its banks
sloping sharply down to the water’s edge. And the children never knew
how they came, hours after, to be scrambling down the steep path,
hand in hand, with Peter Pan hurrying on in front and Tim, the crow,
flapping and hopping alongside.
Silently they hastened on, impelled by an unspoken fear of being late,
for what they knew not.
Presently they reached the foot of the hill and paused in the shadow
of the great trees that lined the fruitful banks of the river.
It was a gorgeous night. The full moon, pouring her silver light
through a fretwork of leaf and twig overhead, wove patterns of fancy
laces on the grass below. Not a leaf quivered. Not a breath stirred the
sleeping vale of Cuyahoga.
Suddenly all the valley glowed as with a silver flame. And out of the
heart of it rose a column of light, rainbow hued but pale as moonlight,
indistinct as a moonlight mist.
Slowly it advanced through the silver flame, with a slightly swaying
motion, rhythmical as the steps of an armed host. And then the
children, watching spellbound, but not at all afraid, for it all seemed
to be perfectly a matter of course, just as much so as it had become
quite the thing to hear Peter Pan sit up and talk, began to distinguish
shadowy forms, to hear strange music, and the dull throbbing of
tom-toms.
Nearer swept the unknown company, headed by one of kindly bearing,
clothed in blanket and fringed leggings, with moccasins embroidered
with wampum and quills of porcupine, with eagle feathers in his hair
and tomahawk at his belt, and after him followed his countless braves,
stepping noiselessly, moving silently in the wake of the leader. So
they passed and vanished and Bob knew that he had looked upon the great
chief who for countless years had slept in the windy hilltop in the
shadow of the lonely oak.
So, set in a frame of silver sheen, the vision faded into the moonlit
mystery of the night.
Thus does the great Spirit of Love and Good open the eyes of innocence
and purity to the infinite wonders of Nature, the visions of the night
watches, the language of the dear dumb creatures, the voices that
breathe from the souls of flowers. And the children awe-stricken but
wholly unafraid, hand in hand, sought the homeward way.
At the threshold of Sally’s room they kissed and separated, Tim hopping
along in Bob’s wake, and perching familiarly on the foot-board of his
bed. And Bob’s last waking recollection was of the bird, standing
sleepily on one claw, his eyes shut and his beak sunk in his feathers,
while he croaked in a drowsy little note, “What a place for worms.”
[Illustration]