When the Sun Chaser had reached the levels of the dark fields and then
the dark and damp meadows, his first thought was that now, having lost
it on its orbit, if he would find the sun again, he must go back. Yet
all the misery he had ever known had come from going back.
Ambrose knew the place of the sun’s rising,--to the east, on beyond
Northerly, past the lamps, past the place he called home, out by the old
mill where the stream rushed, the wheels had clacked once upon a time,
the hills rose, and the sun morn after morn came up in the midst of lake
and stream.
So he stumbled along feeling his way by fence post and stone wall until
he came to four corners and from thence to the village. The Sun Chaser
had a purpose and he had never faltered in that purpose: to overtake the
sun and go on--never go back again--go on with it forever.
Ambrose Clark found his way wearily, unsteadily, past the single light
of a cottage, past stones luminous grey in the star-light, past lighted
windows, past the dark, straight boles of trees, through the lamp-lit
street of Northerly, by the Doctor’s windows, past a big shop, past the
lock-up, past the minister’s, past the undertaker’s,--clip-clop,
clip-clop, clip-clop.
The Doctor’s grandchild was wakeful, and raised herself from her little
white bed: “W’at zat,” she called, “Sun Chaser comin’ back again?”
“Yes, coming back again, my darling,” answered her mother.
“Must he always come back?”
“Always,” was the reply, “for there is no going forward that way.”
Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, step after lame step Ambrose went
stumbling on through the night.
From the big shop a son of the storekeeper’s looked out the window to
see him go limping by.
Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, on stumbled the leather-shod
foot dragging the wooden-shod behind it, past the lock-up, through whose
heavy iron grating Stephen Short, the town sheriff, was pushing bread
and water to a thief. Thieves at large may buy bread a-plenty, or steal
it, butter it with sunshine and freedom and, unwilling or wanton, be
sufficed. Thieves caught must starve.
Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, feet fumbling their way, head swimming
until lamps and stars swung about like torches. Clip-clop, clip-clop,
clip-clop, on past the parsonage, where the Good Man at evening prayers
was reading of sin and redemption, of love and eternal life. Clip-clop!
Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, the Sun Chaser was going swiftly now,
not because he was nearing home but because he was passing the
undertaker’s. Clippity-clop, clippity-clop, leather-shod wildly dragging
wooden-shod. And he was gone beyond the place he had wept because he
must pass.
Before him, through the night, shone two lighted windows. Surely,
pondered Ambrose Clark, the sun had left somewhat of itself shining
there--yes, yes, this was the way, this was the way of the rising sun.
All out there was his--pass the undertaker’s and all was his, his
cottage, his wife, his little Pearl, the bit of sun there chipped off
and upright on the white deal table. All but the mill,--the mill was not
his, and he sighed and put his fingers in his pocket. However, if no one
stand in his way, a fragment of sun was better than none. He would get
that and scatter its joy for all.