The Redemption of David Corson | Page 2

was waiting and
the pressing work of the household had been long delayed.
The child threw down his dinner horn, whistled to his dog and started.
Springing up from where he had been watching every expression of his
master's face, the shaggy collie bounded around him as he moved
across the lawn, while the woman watched them with a proud and
happy smile. They had scarcely entered the long lane leading to the
pasture, when a woodchuck shambled out of the corner of the fence and
ran lumbering into his burrow. Rushing excitedly after him the child
clapped his hands and shouted: "Dig him out! Dig him out, Shep!"
Tearing up the ground with his paws and thrusting his head down into
the subterranean chamber, the obedient collie yelped and whined. Then
backing out and plunging in once more, he yelped and whined again.
The hole was too deep or the time too short and the boy became
discouraged. Moving reluctantly away he chidingly summoned his
companion to follow him. The dog, humiliated by his failure, obeyed,
and sheepishly licked his mouth with his long, red tongue.
By this time the sun's disk had sunk behind the hills, its trailing glory
lingering above their summits while slowly in the sky faded continents,
mountains and spires. The day had died regretfully upon a couch
o'erhung with gorgeous canopies, and the ensanguined bier still seemed
to tremble with his last sigh. Birds in the tops of trees and crickets
beneath the sod were giving expression to the emotions of the sad heart
of the great earth in melancholy evening songs. The odors of peach and
apple blossoms, wafted by gentle breezes from distant orchards, made
the valley fragrant as an oriental garden. The soothing influence of the
approaching night subdued the effervescent spirits of the lad, and he
began to walk softly, as do nuns in the aisles of dim cathedrals or deer
in the pathways of the moonlit forest. These few moments between
twilight and dark are pregnant with a mysterious holiness and it is
doubtful if the worst of men could find the courage to commit a crime
while they endure.

Unutterable and incomprehensible emotions were awakened in the soul
of the boy by the stillness and beauty of the evening world. His senses
were not yet dulled nor his feelings jaded. Through every avenue of his
intelligence the mystery of the universe stole into his sensitive spirit. If
a breeze blew across the meadow he turned his cheek to its kiss; if the
odor of spearmint from the brookside was wafted around him he
breathed it into his nostrils with delight. He saw the shadow of a crow
flying across the field and stopped to look up and listen for the swish of
her wings and her loud, hoarse caw as she made her way to the nesting
grounds; then he gazed beyond her, into the fathomless depths of the
blue sky, and his soul was stirred with an indescribable awe.
Everything filled him with surprise, with wonder and with ecstasy,--the
glowing sky above the western hills, the new pale crescent of the silver
moon, the heavy-laden honey bees eagerly hastening home, the long
shadows lying across his path, the trees with branches swaying in the
evening breeze, the cows with bursting udders lowing at the bars.
But it was not so much the objects themselves as the spirit pervading
them, which stirred the depths of the child's mind. The little pantheist
saw God everywhere. We bestow the gift of language upon a child, but
the feelings which that language serves only to interpret and express
exist and glow within him even if he be dumb. And this gift of
language is often of questionable value, and had been so with him.
Things he had heard said about God often made the boy hate Him. All
that he felt, filled him with love. To him the valley was heaven, and
through it invisibly but unmistakably God walked, morning, noon and
evening.
To the child sauntering dreamily and wistfully along, the object dimly
seen from the farm-house door began gradually to dissolve itself into a
group of living beings. Two horses were attached to a plow; one
standing in the lush grass of the meadow, and the other in a deep
furrow traced across its surface. The first, an old gray mare, was
breathing heavily, her sides expanding and contracting like a bellows.
Her wide nostrils opened and closed with spasmodic motions. Her eyes
were shut and she seemed to be asleep. The other, a young and slender
filly doing this season the first real service of her life, pawed the

ground restlessly, snorted, shook her mane, rattled the harness chains
and looked angrily over her shoulder at the driver. The plowshare