Daisy In The Field

I had expected to see the town; and it was part of the town no

doubt that stretched away before me, but it had rather the

beauty of the country. There was nothing regular in streets or

buildings, nor compact; the houses scattered away down the

hill, standing here and there, alone and in groups, with

fields or pieces of fields intermingling. Pretty houses, with

quaint dormer windows and high sloping roofs. We were on a

height, I found, from which the eye went down delightfully

over this bit of the rambling old town. A courtyard, with

grass and young trees, was the first thing next the house on

this side; which I found was not the front; then the ground

fell sharply, and most of the houses stood upon a level below

bordering the lake. A stretch of the lake lay there, smooth,

still, bearing the reflection of some houses on its opposite

edge; where softened under a misty atmosphere another little

town seemed to rest on a rising bank. And then, just behind

it, rose the mountain, looking down upon lake and towns as if

to forbid a thought of foolishness in any one who should ever

live there. So, in its beautiful gravity, Mont Pilatte seemed

to me, then and always. Are not mountains always witnesses for

God? This first time I saw it, a misty cloud had swept across

the breast of the mountain and hid part of the outline; but

the head lifted itself in sunlight just above the veiling

cloud, and looked down in unspeakable majesty upon the lower

world. Always my eyes went back to that wonderful mountain

head; then fell to the placid lake and the little town

sleeping in misty sunlight on its further border; then caught

the sharp pointed towers of a church or cathedral close by at

my left hand, just within my picture; I could not see the

whole church; then back to the soft veiled mountain. A more

picturesque combination never went into a view. I sat still in

a trance of pleasure, only my eyes moving slowly from point to

point, and my heart and soul listening to the hidden melodies

which in nature's great halls are always sounding. I do

believe, for the matter of that, they are always sounding in

nature's least chambers as well; but there is the tinkle of a

silver bell, and there is the thunder of the great organ. At

any rate I was quieted, comforted, soothed, and entirely

myself again, by the time I had listened to Mont Pilatte for a

couple of hours.

The day wore on, and the lights changed, and the cloud

deepened on the mountain. The lights had not begun to fade

yet, though it was the time of long shadows, when a little

bustle below and steps on the stairs drew me away from the

window and brought me to my feet; but I stood still. The first

one was mamma, and her first word of course broke the spell

under which I had been standing and brought me into her arms.

And that word I pondered many a time afterwards. It was

simply, "Why, Daisy!" - but the letters put together tell

nothing of what was in the expression. Pleasure and affection

there were, of course; and there was something beside, which I

could not help thinking gave token of gratified surprise. What

should have excited it I do not know, unless it were that my

appearance pleased her better than she had expected. It was

not surprise at my being there, for the servants had told of

that. My father, who was next, said exactly the same words;

but his "Why, Daisy!" had an altogether different expression.

I flung myself into his arms, and then almost broke my heart

with the thought that I had been so long out of them. My

father pressed me very close, and kept very still. I felt my

mother touch me on the shoulder, and heard her tell me not to

be so excited; but I could not mind her. And papa, sitting

down, kept me in his arms and held me fast and kissed me, and

I sobbed myself into content.