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Title: The Hampshire Hills
   [the twelfth story in "A Little Book of Profitable Tales"]
Author: Field, Eugene (1850-1895)
Date of first publication: 1889
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1894
Date first posted: 29 July 2010
Date last updated: 29 July 2010
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #582

This ebook was produced by:
David Edwards, woodie4
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net

This file was produced from images generously made available
by the Internet Archive/American Libraries




THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS.


One afternoon many years ago two little brothers named Seth and Abner
were playing in the orchard. They were not troubled with the heat of the
August day, for a soft, cool wind came up from the river in the valley
over yonder and fanned their red cheeks and played all kinds of pranks
with their tangled curls. All about them was the hum of bees, the song
of birds, the smell of clover, and the merry music of the crickets.
Their little dog Fido chased them through the high, waving grass, and
rolled with them under the trees, and barked himself hoarse in his
attempt to keep pace with their laughter. Wearied at length, they lay
beneath the bellflower-tree and looked off at the Hampshire hills, and
wondered if the time ever would come when they should go out into the
world beyond those hills and be great, noisy men. Fido did not
understand it at all. He lolled in the grass, cooling his tongue on the
clover bloom, and puzzling his brain to know why his little masters were
so quiet all at once.

"I wish I were a man," said Abner, ruefully. "I want to be somebody and
do something. It is very hard to be a little boy so long and to have no
companions but little boys and girls, to see nothing but these same old
trees and this same high grass, and to hear nothing but the same
bird-songs from one day to another."

"That is true," said Seth. "I, too, am very tired of being a little boy,
and I long to go out into the world and be a man like my gran'pa or my
father or my uncles. With nothing to look at but those distant hills and
the river in the valley, my eyes are wearied; and I shall be very happy
when I am big enough to leave this stupid place."

Had Fido understood their words he would have chided them, for the
little dog loved his home and had no thought of any other pleasure than
romping through the orchard and playing with his little masters all the
day. But Fido did not understand them.

The clover bloom heard them with sadness. Had they but listened in turn
they would have heard the clover saying softly: "Stay with me while you
may, little boys; trample me with your merry feet; let me feel the
imprint of your curly heads and kiss the sunburn on your little cheeks.
Love me while you may, for when you go away you never will come back."

The bellflower-tree heard them, too, and she waved her great, strong
branches as if she would caress the impatient little lads, and she
whispered: "Do not think of leaving me: you are children, and you know
nothing of the world beyond those distant hills. It is full of trouble
and care and sorrow; abide here in this quiet spot till you are prepared
to meet the vexations of that outer world. We are for you,--we trees and
grass and birds and bees and flowers. Abide with us, and learn the
wisdom we teach."

The cricket in the raspberry-hedge heard them, and she chirped, oh! so
sadly: "You will go out into the world and leave us and never think of
us again till it is too late to return. Open your ears, little boys, and
hear my song of contentment."

So spake the clover bloom and the bellflower-tree and the cricket; and
in like manner the robin that nested in the linden over yonder, and the
big bumblebee that lived in the hole under the pasture gate, and the
butterfly and the wild rose pleaded with them, each in his own way; but
the little boys did not heed them, so eager were their desires to go
into and mingle with the great world beyond those distant hills.

Many years went by; and at last Seth and Abner grew to manhood, and the
time was come when they were to go into the world and be brave, strong
men. Fido had been dead a long time. They had made him a grave under the
bellflower-tree,--yes, just where he had romped with the two little boys
that August afternoon Fido lay sleeping amid the humming of the bees and
the perfume of the clover. But Seth and Abner did not think of Fido now,
nor did they give even a passing thought to any of their old
friends,--the bellflower-tree, the clover, the cricket, and the robin.
Their hearts beat with exultation. They were men, and they were going
beyond the hills to know and try the world.

They were equipped for that struggle, not in a vain, frivolous way, but
as good and brave young men should be. A gentle mother had counselled
them, a prudent father had advised them, and they had gathered from the
sweet things of Nature much of that wisdom before which all knowledge is
as nothing. So they were fortified. They went beyond the hills and came
into the West. How great and busy was the world,--how great and busy it
was here in the West! What a rush and noise and turmoil and seething and
surging, and how keenly did the brothers have to watch and struggle for
vantage ground. Withal, they prospered; the counsel of the mother, the
advice of the father, the wisdom of the grass and flowers and trees,
were much to them, and they prospered. Honor and riches came to them,
and they were happy. But amid it all, how seldom they thought of the
little home among the circling hills where they had learned the first
sweet lessons of life!

And now they were old and gray. They lived in splendid mansions, and all
people paid them honor.

One August day a grim messenger stood in Seth's presence and beckoned to
him.

"Who are you?" cried Seth. "What strange power have you over me that the
very sight of you chills my blood and stays the beating of my heart?"

Then the messenger threw aside his mask, and Seth saw that he was Death.
Seth made no outcry; he knew what the summons meant, and he was content.
But he sent for Abner.

And when Abner came, Seth was stretched upon his bed, and there was a
strange look in his eyes and a flush upon his cheeks, as though a fatal
fever had laid hold on him.

"You shall not die!" cried Abner, and he threw himself about his
brother's neck and wept.

But Seth bade Abner cease his outcry. "Sit here by my bedside and talk
with me," said he, "and let us speak of the Hampshire hills."

A great wonder overcame Abner. With reverence he listened, and as he
listened, a sweet peace seemed to steal into his soul.

"I am prepared for Death," said Seth, "and I will go with Death this
day. Let us talk of our childhood now, for, after all the battle with
this great world, it is pleasant to think and speak of our boyhood
among the Hampshire hills."

"Say on, dear brother," said Abner.

"I am thinking of an August day long ago," said Seth, solemnly and
softly. "It was _so very_ long ago, and yet it seems only yesterday. We
were in the orchard together, under the bellflower-tree, and our little
dog--"

"Fido," said Abner, remembering it all, as the years came back.

"Fido and you and I, under the bellflower-tree," said Seth. "How we had
played, and how weary we were, and how cool the grass was, and how sweet
was the fragrance of the flowers! Can you remember it, brother?"

"Oh, yes," replied Abner, "and I remember how we lay among the clover
and looked off at the distant hills and wondered of the world beyond."

"And amid our wonderings and longings," said Seth, "how the old
bellflower-tree seemed to stretch her kind arms down to us as if she
would hold us away from that world beyond the hills."

"And now I can remember that the clover whispered to us, and the
cricket in the raspberry-hedge sang to us of contentment," said Abner.

"The robin, too, carolled in the linden."

"It is very sweet to remember it now," said Seth. "How blue and hazy the
hills looked; how cool the breeze blew up from the river; how like a
silver lake the old pickerel pond sweltered under the summer sun over
beyond the pasture and broom-corn, and how merry was the music of the
birds and bees!"

So these old men, who had been little boys together, talked of the
August afternoon when with Fido they had romped in the orchard and
rested beneath the bellflower-tree. And Seth's voice grew fainter, and
his eyes were, oh! so dim; but to the very last he spoke of the dear old
days and the orchard and the clover and the Hampshire hills. And when
Seth fell asleep forever, Abner kissed his brother's lips and knelt at
the bedside and said the prayer his mother had taught him.

In the street without there was the noise of passing carts, the cries of
trades-people, and all the bustle of a great and busy city; but,
looking upon Seth's dear, dead face, Abner could hear only the music
voices of birds and crickets and summer winds as he had heard them with
Seth when they were little boys together, back among the Hampshire
hills.

1885.




[End of _The Hampshire Hills_ by Eugene Field]
