“How beautiful it is to be alive!
To wake each morn as if the Maker’s grace
Did us afresh from nothingness derive,
That we might sing: How happy is our case,
How beautiful it is to be alive.”
—H. S. Sutton.
It was Saturday afternoon; Judith had been busy in the kitchen all
the morning with Aunt Rody, and she (not Aunt Rody) had kept her
temper; that was one happening that made the day memorable and
delightful, and then there were three others: one was her miracle,
another the maidens that were going out to draw water, and the
disciple from Antioch, and, most memorable of all, the plan for
boarding-school.
The miracle happened in this way: Aunt Rody sent her to take a basket
of things to Nettie Evans, a “Sunday surprise,” Judith called it;
tiny biscuits, jelly cake, and a little round box of figs.
Nettie had had a wearisome day (very much more dreadful than a
Saturday morning in the kitchen with Aunt Rody, Judith told herself),
and Mrs. Evans thought it better for her not to go up to Nettie’s
room, for the pain in her back was better, she had fallen asleep and
she was afraid to have her disturbed.
“May I get a drink of water?” Judith asked. She always felt thirsty
when she came near the plank that formed the ascent from the ground
where the kitchen had been to the bit of floor that was left for the
sink to stand on. The old kitchen had been torn down this summer, and
nothing remained of it excepting the sink which contained the pump
(the water came from the well where Nettie’s lilies grew), the window
over the sink, the roof overhead, and the walls on each side of the
sink. She liked the fun of running up and down this plank, and she
liked to stand and look out of this window toward the east. It was a
window toward the east. Sometimes she thought about the Jews praying
toward the east. She wished once that something would happen to this
window because it _was_ a window toward the east. A window facing the
east in a house was not at all remarkable; but a window that was not
in a house brought itself into very interesting prominence.
And this afternoon her something happened. There was a wonder in the
heavens.
It was afternoon; she knew it was, she was sure of it; dinner was
over hours ago; Aunt Rody had helped her wipe the dinner dishes, and
Aunt Affy had gone to town with Uncle Cephas to take the week’s
butter to her customers; and she was on her way to the parsonage to
sing hymns with Miss Marion, the hymns for church to-morrow, and she
_never_ went till afternoon. But there it was. The sun was in the
east in the afternoon; round, peering through mist with a pale,
yellow splendor; she saw something that no one in the world had ever
seen. It was the sun rising in the afternoon.
It must be a miracle; a miracle in the window towards Jerusalem.
But the sun surely had not stood still ever since morning; it was
high up when she stood in the back yard and rang the dinner bell for
Uncle Cephas and Joe.
Was it a miracle just for her?
That _was_ the east; it had been the east ever since she was born; it
had been the east ever since the the world was made; and it was the
_sun_.
It was nothing to see the full moon in the east; the last time she
went driving with Miss Marion and Mr. Roger they saw the full moon in
the east and he talked about it. This was not the full moon.
“Mrs. Evans, Mrs. Evans, quick, quick,” she called, excitedly,
fearing that her miracle would vanish.
Hurried steps crossed the new kitchen and Mrs. Evans appeared.
“What _is_ it, child? Don’t wake Nettie.”
“Look,” said Judith, with the dignity of a youthful prophetess,
pointing to the apparition; “see the sun in the east in the
afternoon.”
Mrs. Evans stepped up the plank, and looked. It _was_ the sun in the
east in the afternoon.
“Well, I declare!” ejaculated Mrs. Evans, “that does beat all I ever
saw. Where did it come from? How could it get there?” Startled, she
turned, and toward the west, there was the big, round sun shining in
all his glory.
“Oh, I see,” with a breath of relief; “I thought the world must be
coming to an end. It is the reflection. Look, don’t you see? the sun
is opposite the window. But it _is_ a wonderful sight. I wish it
would stay until I could call the neighbors in.”
Judith looked at the west and reasoned about it; she turned toward
the east, then to the west, then to the window again.
“So it is,” with an inflection of disappointment.
Mrs. Evans laughed softly and hurried back to the new kitchen.
Judith pumped her glass of water with the radiance of two suns in her
face.
“Little girl, little girl,” called a voice from a buggy in the road,
“will you direct me to the parsonage?”
“Go on straight up the hill, turn to the right and see the church;
the next house is the parsonage,” she replied with ready exactness.
“Thank you,” said a second voice, with a foreign accent; the face
bent forward was very dark, with dark eyes, and dark beard.
Half an hour afterward she found Miss Marion in her own room, and
before they went down to the parlor to the piano, she and Miss Marion
read together in First Samuel.
They were reading the Bible through together; Marion told her brother
that it was a revelation to her to read the Bible with a girl, and an
old woman; it was looking forward and looking backward.