The Seeker by Harry Leon Wilson
page 45 of 334 (13%)
page 45 of 334 (13%)
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the experienced ear that pink and spangled Beauty danced on the big white
horse at a deathless gallop; to know that one might freely enter that tented elysium--if it were possible he would run off with a circus though it meant that he had the morals of a serpent! Now, eastward from the big house lay the village and its churches: thither was tame virtue. But westward lay a broad field stretching off to an orchard, and beyond swelled a gentle hill, mellow in the distance. Still more remotely far, at the hill's rim, was a blur of woods beyond which the sun went down each night. This, in the little boy's mind, was the highway to the glad free Life of Evil. Many days he looked to that western wood when the sky was a gush of colour behind its furred edge, perceiving all manner of allurements to beckon him, hearing them plead, feeling them tug. Daily his spirit quickened within him to their solicitations, leaping out and beyond him in some magic way to bring back veritable meanings and values of the future. Then a day came when the desire to be off was no longer resistible. There was a month of school yet; an especially bitter thought, for had he not lately been out of school a week with mumps; and during that very week had not the teacher's father died, so that he was cheated out of the resulting three-days' vacation, other children being free while he lay on a bed of pain--if you tasted pickles or any sour thing? Not only was it useless to try to learn to write "a good business hand," like Ralph Overton--he took the phrase to mean one of those pictured hands that were always pointing to things in the newspaper advertisements--but there was the circus and other evil things--and he was getting on in years. It was a Saturday afternoon. To-morrow would be too late. He knew he would not be allowed to start on the Sabbath, even in a career that was to be |
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