They can see it then from far around. See it as
they go out to the barn in the morning; see it when they're shutting up
at night. 'Twill make a difference--even to them that never go.
GRANDMOTHER: Now, Silas--don't be hasty.
SILAS: Hasty? It's been company to me for years. Came to me one
night--must 'a' been ten years ago--middle of a starry night as I was
comin' home from your place (_to_ FEJEVARY) I'd gone over to lend a hand
with a sick horse an'--
FEJEVARY: (_with a grateful smile_) That was nothing new.
SILAS: Well, say, I'd sit up with a sick horse that belonged to the
meanest man unhung. But--there were stars that night had never been
there before. Leastways I'd not seen 'em. And the hill--Felix, in all
your travels east, did you ever see anything more beautiful than that
hill?
FELIX: It's like sculpture.
SILAS: Hm. (_the wistfulness with which he speaks of that outside his
knowledge_) I s'pose 'tis. It's the way it rises--somehow--as if it knew
it rose from wide and fertile lands. I climbed the hill that night,
(_to_ FEJEVARY) You'd been talkin'. As we waited between medicines you
told me about your life as a young man. All you'd lived through seemed
to--open up to you that night--way things do at times.
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