This voice of Day's was like the voice sleeping in the great
bronze horn hanging in a rack, which his father had used to call the
hands to dinner. A little wind meant no sound, but a great effort,
summoning all the breath in the body, made the brazen throat ring out
like a viking's horn, wild and sweet.
So with Day, if an occasion might be great enough to call it forth.
"He always was a notional little man," the women said, on hearing this.
The old bachelor was losing his wits. Such doctrine as he held made him
out not one whit better off than Zinie Shadd, who averred that the heart
of man was but a pendulum swaying in his bosom--though how it still
moved when he stood on his head was more than even Zinie Shadd could
fathom, to be sure.
"It's the voice of conscience he's thinking of, to my judgment," said
one. "That girl is deafer than a haddock and dumb as the stone."
Untouched by gossip, the harbor master felt with pride that his jewel
among women was safe, and that here, within four humble walls, he
treasured up a being literally without guile, one who grew straight and
white as a birch sapling. "Pavilioned in splendor" were the words
descriptive of her which he had heard thunderously hymned in church. The
hair heavy on her brow was of the red gold of October.
Pages:
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359