So many were the
birds, reeling on all sides, at various distances, that the
evening air seemed full of their sounds, far and near, like
many low, tremulous, sustained notes blown on reeds, rising
and falling, overlapping and mingling. And presently from
the bushes close by, just beyond the weedy, forlorn little
"orchard," sounded the rich, full, throbbing prelude to the
nightingale's song, and that powerful melody that in its
purity and brilliance invariably strikes us with surprise
seemed to shine out, as it were, against the background of
that diffused, mysterious purring of the nightjars, even as
the golden disc of the moon shone against and above the
darkening skies and dusky woods.
And as we sat there, gazing and listening, a human voice
came out of the night--a call prolonged and modulated like
the coo-ee of the Australian bush, far off and faint; but
the children in the kitchen heard it at the same time, for
they too had been listening, and instantly went mad with
excitement.
"Father!" they all screamed together. "Father's coming!" and
out they rushed and away they fled down the darkening road,
exerting their full voices in shrill answering cries.
We were anxious to see this unfortunate man, who was yet happy
in a loving family. He had gone early in the morning in his
donkey-cart to the little market town, fourteen miles away, to
get the few necessaries they could afford to buy.
Pages:
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42