The Soldier of the Valley | Page 6

have give a limb," repeated Perry, emphasizing the

announcement by shaking his finger at the old man.
Isaac's mouth was half open for a protest, when he remembered, and
leaning over seized the toe of each boot in a hand and wriggled his feet.
When we saw his face again he was smiling gently, and swinging back,
he nestled his head against the wall and closed his eyes once more.
"You would have give your life," cried Perry.
But the only sign old Bolum made was to twirl the thumbs of his
clasped hands.
"Six months ago, six short, stirrin' months ago you left us, just a plain
man, at your country's call." Perry was thundering his rolling periods at
us. "To-day, a moment since, standin' here by the track, we heard the
rumblin' of the train and the engyne's whistle, and we says a he-ro
comes--a he-ro in blue!"
Had Perry looked my way, he might have noticed that I was clad in
khaki, but he was addressing Henry Holmes, whose worthy head was
nodding in continual acquiescence. The old man stood, with eyes
downcast and hands clasped before him, a picture of humility. The
orator, carried away by his own eloquence, seemed to forget its real
purpose, and in a moment, sitting unnoticed in my chair with Tim at
my side, I became a minor figure, while half a hundred were gathered
there to do honor to Henry Holmes. Once I even forgot and started to
applaud when Perry raised his hand over the gray head as though in
blessing and said solemnly: "He-ro in blue--agin we bid you welcome!"
A little laugh behind me recalled me to my real place, and with a
burning face I turned.
I have in my mind a thousand pictures of one woman. But of them all
the one I love most, the one on which I dwell most as I sit of an
evening with my pipe and my unopened book, is that which I first saw
when I sought the chit who noticed my ill-timed applause and laughed
at me. I found her. I saw that she laughed with me and for me, and I
laughed too. We laughed together. An instant, and her face became

grave.
The orator, now swelling into his peroration, was forgotten. The people
of the valley--Tim--even Tim--all of them were forgotten. I had found
the woman of my firelight, the woman of my cloudland, the woman of
my sunset country down in the mountains to the west. She, had always
been a vague, undefined creature to me--just a woman, and so elusive
as never to get within the grasp of my mind's eye; just a woman whom
I had endowed with every grace; whose kindly spirit shone through
eyes, now brown, now blue, now black, according to my latest whim;
who ofttimes worn, or perhaps feigning weariness, rested on my
shoulder a little head, crowned with a glory of hair sometimes black,
and sometimes golden or auburn, and not infrequently red, a dashing,
daring red. Sometimes she was slender and elf-like, a chic and clinging
creature. Again she was tall and stately, like the women of the
romances. Again she was buxom and blooming, one whose hand you
would take instead of offering an arm. She had been an elusive,
ever-changing creature, but now that I had looked into those grave,
gray eyes, I fixed the form of my picture, and fixed its colors and fired
them in to last for all my time.
Now she is just the woman that every woman ought to be. Her hair is
soft brown and sweeps back from a low white forehead. She has tried
to make it straight and simple, as every woman should, but the angels
seem to have curled it here and mussed it there, so that all her care
cannot hide its wanton waves. Her face is full of life and health, so
open, so candid, that there you read her heart, and you know that it is as
good as she is fair.
She stood before me in a sombre gown, almost ugly in its gray color
and severe lines, but to me she was a quaint figure such as might have
stepped out of the old world and the old time when men lived with a
vengeance, and godliness and ugliness went arm in arm, for Satan had
preempted the beautiful. Against her a homely garb failed. She was
beautiful in spite of her clothes and not because of them. But this is
generally true with women. This one, instead of sharing our admiration
with her gown, claimed it all for herself. Her face had no rival.

I did not turn away. I could not. The gray eyes, once flashing with the
light of kindly