IDLEWILD
In the morning Nature appeared to have forgotten both her passion and her
penitence, and smiled serenely over the havoc she had made, as if it were
of no consequence.
Amy said, "Let us take the strong rockaway, call for Miss Hargrove, and
visit some of the streams"; and she noted that Burt's assent was too
undemonstrative to be natural. Maggie decided to go also, and take the
children, while Leonard proposed to devote the day to repairing the
damage to the farm, his brothers promising to aid him in the afternoon.
When at last the party left their carriage at one of the entrances of
Idlewild, the romantic glen made so famous by the poet Willis, a stranger
might have thought that he had never seen a group more in accord with the
open, genial sunshine. This would be true of Maggie and the children.
They thought of that they saw, and uttered all their thoughts. The
solution of one of life's deep problems had come to Maggie, but not to
the others, and such is the nature of this problem that its solution can
usually be reached only by long and hidden processes. Not one of the four
young people was capable of a deliberately unfair policy; all, with the
exception of Amy, were conscious whither Nature was leading them, and she
had thoughts also of which she would not speak. There was no lack of
truth in the party, and yet circumstances had brought about a larger
degree of reticence than of frankness. To borrow an illustration from
Nature, who, after all, was to blame for what was developing in each
heart, a rapid growth of root was taking place, and the flower and fruit
would inevitably manifest themselves in time. Miss Hargrove naturally had
the best command over herself. She had taken her course, and would abide
by it, no matter what she might suffer. Burt had mentally set his teeth,
and resolved that he would be not only true to Amy, but also his old gay
self. His pride was now in the ascendant. Amy, however, was not to be
deceived, and her intuition made it clear that he was no longer her old
happy, contented comrade. But she was too proud to show that her pride
was wounded, and appeared to be her former self. Webb, as usual, was
quiet, observant, and not altogether hopeless. And so this merry party,
innocent, notwithstanding all their hidden thoughts about each other,
went down into the glen, and saw the torrent flashing where the sunlight
struck it through the overhanging foliage. Half-way down the ravine there
was a rocky, wooded plateau from which they had a view of the flood for
some distance, as it came plunging toward them with a force and volume
that appeared to threaten the solid foundations of the place on which
they stood. With a roar of baffled fury it sheered off to the left,
rushed down another deep descent, and disappeared from view. The scene
formed a strange blending of peace and beauty with wild, fierce movement
and uproar. From the foliage above and around them came a soft,
slumberous sound, evoked by the balmy wind that fanned their cheeks. The
ground and the surface of the torrent were flecked with waving, dancing
light and shade, as the sunlight filtered through innumerable leaves, on
some of which a faint tinge of red and gold was beginning to appear.
Beneath and through all thundered a dark, resistless tide, fit emblem of
lawless passion that, unchanged, unrestrained by gentle influences,
pursues its downward course reckless of consequences. Although the volume
of water passing beneath their feet was still immense, it was evident
that it had been very much greater. "I stood here yesterday afternoon,"
said Burt, "and then the sight was truly grand."
"Why, it was raining hard in the afternoon!" exclaimed Miss Hargrove.
"Burt seemed even more perturbed than the weather yesterday," Amy
remarked, laughing. "He was out nearly all the time. We were alarmed
about him, fearing lest he should be washed away, dissolved, or
something."
"Do I seem utterly quenched this morning?" he asked, in a light vein, but
flushing deeply.
"Oh, no, not in the least, and yet it's strange, after so much cold water
has fallen on you."
"One is not quenched by such trifles," he replied, a little coldly.
They were about to turn away, when a figure sprang out upon a rock, far
up the stream, in the least accessible part of the glen. They all
recognized Mr. Alvord, as he stood with folded arms and looked down on
the flood that rushed by on either side of him. He had not seen them, and
no greeting was possible above the sound of the waters. Webb thought as
he carried little Ned up the steep path, "Perhaps, in the mad current, he
sees the counterpart of some period in his past."
The bridge across the mouth of Idlewild Brook was gone, and they next
went to the landing. The main wharf was covered with large stones and
gravel, the debris of the flood that had poured over it from the adjacent
stream, whose natural outlet had been wholly inadequate. Then they drove
to the wild and beautiful Mountainville road, that follows the Moodna
Creek for a long distance. They could not proceed very far, however, for
they soon came to a place where a tiny brook had passed under a wooden
bridge. Now there was a great yawning chasm. Not only the bridge, but
tons of earth were gone. The Moodna Creek, that had almost ceased to flow
in the drought, had become a tawny river, and rushed by them with a
sullen roar, flanging over the tide was an old dead tree, on which was
perched a fish-hawk. Even while they were looking at him, and Burt was
wishing for his rifle, the bird swooped downward, plunged into the stream
with a splash, and rose with a fish in his talons. It was an admirable
exhibition of fearlessness and power, and Burt admitted that such a
sportsman deserved to live.