Peak and Prairie | Page 2

cottage, and looked down the street, at the end of which the
friendly giant stood out against a clear blue sky. The cottonwood trees
on either side of the road were just coming into leaf, and their extended
branches framed in her mighty neighbor in a most becoming manner.
The water in the irrigating ditch beneath the trees was running merrily.
The sound of it brought a wistful look into the cheerful old face. It

made Mrs. Nancy think of the gay little brook in the pasture behind the
house at home--at home, in far New England.
Surely it must have been a strange wind of destiny that wafted this
unadventurous little woman across half a continent to the very foot of
the Rocky Mountains--a long and weary journey for the young and
vigorous. Yet it was something no stranger than a mother's love for her
only child. For "Willie's" sake the widow Tarbell had turned her back
upon the dear New England woods and meadows, upon the tidy village
where every man and woman was her friend; for his sake she had come
to dwell among strangers in a strange and barren land. The old
homestead had been sold, and with the meagre proceeds she had paid
their way across the prairies, and had bought a little house and a lot of
land on the outskirts of Springtown, while Willie looked about him for
something to do. But the enemy before whom they had fled followed
them to the high pure altitude it loves not, and before poor Willie had
found anything to do, he had been "called up higher." This was the
phrase the minister used at Willie's funeral, and it had been peculiarly
comforting to the bereaved mother. She had known well that her boy
needed higher air, for that she had come to live six thousand feet above
the level of the New England pastures. But the Lord saw that she, with
her poor human wisdom, could not lead him to the needed height, and
He had called him up higher yet, where are blessing and healing forever.
With this abiding consolation in her heart, Willie's mother could face
the shining Peak day after day and month after month with a
countenance as brave and cheerful as his own. It was only when she
listened to the sound of running waters, or some other voice of the past,
that the wistful look came into her face.
Meanwhile it was good life-giving air that she breathed, and good
warm sunshine that rested upon her, as she stepped briskly on her way.
Her little cottage was no longer on the outskirts of the town. Stately
mansions had risen up about her, and a long procession of houses now
stretched far up to the northward. The people idly looking forth from
the windows of the stately mansions, did not realize how much a part of
the landscape the little black figure had become, passing and repassing
their doors. A small meek figure it was, with little indication of the

bright spirit within. It was her "best dress" of ten years ago that she
now "wore common." The folds of the skirt, cut in the fashion of a
by-gone day, offered ample accommodation for bustle and steels, and
in the absence of these props the gown had a collapsed, inconsequent
air. But little Mrs. Nancy had never seen her own back, and she wore
the gown with a pleased consciousness of being well dressed. Then
there was the thin cashmere shoulder cape, with the long slimpsy fringe,
which Willie, in his pride and fondness, had persuaded her to buy, and
which had a curiously jaunty and inapt appearance on the narrow
shoulders. The close black felt bonnet was rusty and of antiquated
shape. And since few ever thought of looking within these prosaic
externals to note the delicacy of the soft old cheek, and the sweet
innocence of the faded blue eyes beneath the thin gray locks, it is
perhaps no wonder that the dwellers in the stately mansions quite
overlooked their modest little neighbor.
Mrs. Nancy was expecting to bring back her marketing in the flat twine
bag she carried, and she was also thinking of calling at the milliner's
and inquiring the cost of having her old black straw bonnet pressed
over and retrimmed. She held her purse tightly between her fingers,
encased in loose black cotton gloves, as she tried to estimate the sum of
such an unwonted outlay. Her means were very, very slender, yet she
could not bear that Willie's mother should look too shabby.
And was that all? Who knows but that the spring instinct of renewal
and rejuvenation played a part in her resolve quite independent of the
perennial thought of Willie? The drama of