The little room was resplendent one night with a fire which
flamed and flickered gloriously. It set in motion many shadows
which had their home in the corners of the walls, and bade them
cease their sullenness and come forth to dance in the riot of
the hour. And so each shadow found its partner in a ray of
firelight, and there they danced. They danced about the tangled
front of the big bison's head which hung upon the wall. They
crossed the grinning skull of the gray wolf. They softened the
eyes of the antelope's head, and made dark lines behind the
long-tined antlers of the elk and of the deer. They brought
forth to view in alternate eclipse and definition the great,
grim bear's head which hung above the mantel. Every trophy
gathered in years of the chase, once perhaps prized, now perhaps
forgotten, was brought into evidence, nor could one escape
noting each one, and giving to each, for this one night more,
the story which belonged to it. I sat and looked upon them all,
and so there passed a panorama of the years.
"There," thought I, "is the stag which once fell far in the pine
woods of the North. This antelope takes me back to the hard,
white Plains. These huge antlers could grow only amid the
forests of the Rockies. That wolf--how many of the hounds he
mangled, I remember; and the giant bear, it was a good fight he
made, perhaps dangerous, had the old rifle there been less sure.
Yes, yes, of course, I could recall each incident. Of course,
they all were thrilling, exciting, delightful, glorious, all
those things. Of course, the heart must have leaped in those
days. The blood must have surged, in those moments. The pulse
must have grown hard, the mouth must have been dry with the
ardor of the chase, at those times. But now? But why? Does the
heart leap to-night, do the veins fill with the rush of the
blood, tumultuous in the joy of stimulus or danger? Why does not
the old eagerness come back? Which of these trophies is the one
to bring this back again? To which of these grim, silent heads
belongs the keenest story?"
"I know," said the Singing Mouse, which unknown to me had come
and placed itself upon the table. "I know." And it climbed upon
my arm which lay across the table. The fire shone fair upon its
little form, so that in silhouette its outline was delicate and
keen as an image cut from the fiery heart of a noble opal stone.
"And what is it that you know?" I asked. "Maker of dreams, tell
me what you know to-night."
The Singing Mouse balanced and moved itself in harmony with the
beat of the fire's rays. I looked at it so closely that a dream
came upon my eyes, so that the voice of the Singing Mouse
sounded far away and faint, though it was still clear and
resonant in its own peculiar way and very fine and sweet.
"I will tell you which trophy you most prize," it said. "I will
show you your _Iliad_ of the chase. Do you not remember, do you
not see this, the most eventful hunting of all your life?"
And so I gazed where the Singing Mouse pointed, quite beyond the
dusty walls, and there I saw as it had said. I heard not the
thunder of the hoofs of buffalo, nor the faint crack of the twig
beneath the panther's foot. I saw not the lurching gallop of the
long-jawed wolf, nor the high, elastic bounding of the deer. The
level swinging speed of the antelope, the slinking of the lynx,
the crashing flight of the wapiti--no, it was none of these that
came to mind; nor did the mountains nor the plains, nor the
wilderness of the pines. But when the Singing Mouse whispered,
"Do you see?" I murmured in reply, "I see it all again!"
I saw the small, low hills, well covered with short oaks and
hazel bushes, which rolled on away from the village, far out,
almost to the Delectable Mountains, which are well known to be
upon the edge of the world. Through these low hills a winding
road led on, a road whose end no man had ever reached, but which
went to places where, no doubt, many wonders were--perhaps even
to the Delectable Mountains; for so a wise man once had said,
his words harkened to with awe. This was a pleasant road, lined
with brave sumacs, with bushes of the wild blackberry, and with
small hazel trees which soon would offer fruit for the regular
harvest of the fall, this same to be spread for drying on
the woodshed roof. It was perhaps wise curiosity as to the
crop of nuts which had brought thus far from home these two
figures--an enormous distance, perhaps at least a mile beyond what
heretofore had been the utmost limit of their wanderings. It was
not, perhaps, safe to venture so far. There were known to be
strange creatures in these woods, one knew not what. It was
therefore well that the younger boy should clasp tightly the
hand of the older, him who bore with such confidence the bow and
arrows, potent weapons of those days gone by!
[Illustration]
It was half with fear and half with curiosity that these two
wandered on, along this mysterious road, through this wild and
unknown wilderness, so far from any habitation of mankind. The
zeal of the explorer held them fast. They scarce dared fare
farther on, but yet would not turn back. The noises of the woods
thrilled them. The sudden clanging note of the jay near by
caused them to stop, heart in mouth for the moment. Strange
rustlings in the leaves made them cross the road, and step more
quickly. Yet the cawing of a crow across the woods seemed
friendly, and a small brown bird which hopped ahead along the
road was intimate and kind, and thus touched the founts of
bravery in the two venturous hearts. Certainly they would go on.
It was no matter about the sun. This was the valley of Ajalon,
perhaps, of which one had heard in the class at Sabbath-school.
And surely this was a good, droning, yellow-bodied bee--where
did the bees go to when they rose up straight into the air? And
this little mouse, what became of it in winter? And--ah! What
was that--that awful burst of sound? Clutch closer, little
brother, though both be pale! How should either of you yet know
the thunderous flight of the wild grouse, this great bird which
whirled away through the brown leaves of the oaks? Father must
be asked about this tremendous, startling bird. Meantime, the
heart having begun to beat again, let the two adventurers press
yet a little farther on.
And so, with fears and tremblings, with doubts and joys, through
briers and flowers, through hindrances and recompenses, along
this crooked, winding, unknown road which led on out into the
Unknown, they wandered, as in life we all are wandering to-day.
[Illustration]
But hush! Listen! What is it, this sound, approaching, coming
directly toward the road? Surely, it must be the footfall of
some large animal, this cadenced rustling on the leaves! It
comes--it will cross near--there, it has turned, it is near the
road! Look! There it is, a great animal, half the length of
one's arm, with bushy, long red tail arched high for easier
running, its grayish coat showing in the bars of sunlight, its
eyes bright and black and keen. Had it not been said there were
wild animals in these woods?
Each heart now thumped hard with the surging blood it bore; but
it was now the blood of hunters and not of boys. Fear vanished
at the sight of the quarry, and the only thought remaining was
that of battle and of victory. Well for the animal that it
ran--ill for it that it ran down the road and not back into the
cover. The bow twanged, the arrow flew--blunt, but keenly sped.
Down went the smitten prey! Pæan! Forward! Victory!
But ho! the creature rallies--recovers! It gathers its forces,
it flies! Pursuit then, but pursuit apparently useless, for the
animal has found refuge deep in this hollow stump, beyond the
reach of longest mortal arm!
Rustle now, ye leaves, and threaten now, all ye boughs with
menacings. Roar, grouse, and clamor on, all ye jangling jays. No
longer can ye strike terror into these two souls, small though
they be. The heart of the hunter has now been born for each.
Fear and defeat are known no longer in the compass of their
thoughts. Follow, follow, follow! So spake the good old savagery
of the natural man. Better for this creature had it never
disturbed these two with its footfalls approaching among the
leaves. Out of its refuge now must it come. Yea, though one lost
a thousand suppers that night, and though a thousand stones lay
waiting in the dark along the road to hurt bare, unprotected
toes.
The sun forgot its part, and sank red, though reluctant, beyond
the Delectable Mountains. Thou moon, this is Ajalon! Be kindly,
for by moonlight one still may labor, and here is labor to be
done. Every blade in the Barlow knives is broken. The hole in
the stump yields not to slashings, nor to attempts to pry it
open. The prey is still unreached. What is to be done?
The elder hunter bethinks him of a solution for this problem.
The broken blade will do to gnaw off this bough, and it will
serve to make a split in the end of it. And if one be fortunate,
and if this split bestride the tail of the concealed animal, and
if the stick be twisted--
"I've got him!" cried this philosopher for his "Eureka." And
then there was twisting and pulling, and scratching and
squeaking, and bitten fingers and tears; but after all was over,
there lay the squirrel vanquished, at the feet of these young
barbarians who had wandered out from home into the unknown lands
of earth. Cruel barbarians, thoughtless, relentless! But how
much has the world changed?
[Illustration]
The moon was over Ajalon when these two hunters, after all the
perils of the long, black road, marched up into the dooryard,
bearing on a pole between them their quarry, well suspended
by the gambrels. "My boys, I feared that you were lost!"
exclaims the tearful mother who stands waiting in the door.
But the silent father, standing back of her in the glow of the
lamplight, sees what the pole is bearing, and in his eye there
is a smile. After that, motherly reproach, fatherly inquiry,
plenteous bread and milk, many eager explanations and much
descriptive narrative simultaneously uttered by two mouths eager
both to eat and to talk.
"I see it all," I said to the Singing Mouse. "It all comes back
again. No chase was ever or will ever be so great as this
one--back there, near the Delectable Mountains, in those days
gone by, those incomparable days of youth! I thank you, Singing
Mouse; but I beg you do not go for yet a time. The heads upon
the wall grin much, and the dust lies thick upon them all."
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The Passing of Men]
[Illustration]