Your face as you went on about the vision--you called it, vision of what
life could be. I knew that night there was things I never got wind of.
When I went away--knew I ought to go home to bed--hayin' at daybreak.
'Go to bed?' I said to myself. 'Strike this dead when you've never had
it before, may never have it again?' I climbed the hill. Blackhawk was
there.
GRANDMOTHER: Why, he was _dead_.
SILAS: He was there--on his own old hill, with me and the stars. And I
said to him--
GRANDMOTHER: Silas!
SILAS: Says I to him, 'Yes--that's true; it's more yours than mine, you
had it first and loved it best. But it's neither yours nor mine,--though
both yours and mine. Not my hill, not your hill, but--hill of vision',
said I to him. 'Here shall come visions of a better world than was ever
seen by you or me, old Indian chief.' Oh, I was drunk, plum drunk.
GRANDMOTHER: I should think you was. And what about the next day's hay?
SILAS: A day in the hayfield is a day's hayin'--but a night on the
hill--
FELIX: We don't have them often, do we, Uncle Silas?
SILAS: I wouldn't 'a' had that one but for your father, Felix. Thank God
they drove you out o' Hungary! And it's all so dog-gone _queer_.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172