_LeClare to Prospect in Arcadia._
In the early months of Spring, LeClare was busily engaged with the
architects and builders at work upon the mansion at The Nole. He viewed
the undertaking from day to day, which for weeks seemed but a shapeless
pile of board and scantling; but, as the work progressed, from out the
chaos and confusion could be seen the growing outlines of the stately
columns and the extending roofs of many gables.
Nature had spread her mantle of green abroad, and from the islands
of the Archipelago nearest the shore LeClare saw each evening, as he
strolled along The Front, the shadows of the dense foliage mirrored
upon the placid waters of the river. Then, as the sun sank lower in
the west, and in the gathering twilight, as the evening advanced, the
boats of the fishermen stole out from their sheltered coves and headed
for the spearing grounds away upon the shoals to the southward.
Andy’s Dan was little concerned about the building operations going
on upon the site of his former abode. He held aloof from the workmen,
who were strangers to him, and in his silent, reticent way he resented
the intrusion upon the quiet and primitiveness of the neighborhood. In
LeClare, however, he had found a congenial companion, and upon several
occasions he had confided to his new friend, whom he bound over to
secrecy, the exact spot over by the dead channel where he hooked the
shining maskinonge as he rowed near the rushes by the deep waters.
At this time in their undertaking LeClare was finished with the details
of the work upon the mansion which he had agreed with his friend to
superintend. A few days since a beautifully designed river skiff had
come up from the city, and as Cameron and LeClare stood talking upon
the veranda at Laughing Donald’s, they could see at a distance of a few
boat lengths from the shore Andy’s Dan rowing the new craft up and down
the channel. Now it flew through the waters in answer to the long, low
sweep of the spoon-shaped oars, and now like a race-horse, responding
to the spurs in his side, it sprang ahead in quick bounds as the short
strokes of the oarsman grappled with the surface of the water. After
they had viewed for a time the skill of the aquatic sportsman, LeClare
turned to his friend Cameron and thoughtfully said:
“Andy, should you wander over there to the southward, past the islands
of the Archipelago and the shoals of the marshes, and then follow
the mountain streams up their circuitous windings, you will come at
last to their head, the fountain from which continually spring the
waters, clear and pure, which unite to form the rivers. Down the course
toward the finish of their run sometimes the sparkling clearness
of these streams has become changed to a dullness of color by the
conditions of the country through which they have passed, and their
life and transparency are gone. So it must be with the streams of
life. At first the waters down which we glide are clear and bright,
but later our course perchance may lie through a troubled country,
and in the shallows we encounter the snags which wreck our pleasures
in passing. For a time we endeavor to clear the stream down which we
have been floating by throwing about us on every side that panacea to
unhappiness, speculation or adventure. With me, Andy, the fountain of
my happiness lies in the direction of the brooks from the mountains.
You are at home, and you have been drinking each day of the clear
waters from the springs of true life, and now it’s my turn. I’m going
back, following the stream up to that fountain where my first happiness
began. Out there on the river my craft awaits me, and with your Dan and
mine we will prospect this time in Arcadia.”