The Scarlet Letter

"Oh, brook! Oh, foolish and tiresome little brook!" cried

Pearl, after listening awhile to its talk, "Why art thou so sad?

Pluck up a spirit, and do not be all the time sighing and

murmuring!"

But the brook, in the course of its little lifetime among the

forest trees, had gone through so solemn an experience that it

could not help talking about it, and seemed to have nothing else

to say. Pearl resembled the brook, inasmuch as the current of

her life gushed from a well-spring as mysterious, and had flowed

through scenes shadowed as heavily with gloom. But, unlike the

little stream, she danced and sparkled, and prattled airily

along her course.

"What does this sad little brook say, mother?" inquired she.

"If thou hadst a sorrow of thine own, the brook might tell thee

of it," answered her mother, "even as it is telling me of mine.

But now, Pearl, I hear a footstep along the path, and the noise

of one putting aside the branches. I would have thee betake

thyself to play, and leave me to speak with him that comes

yonder."

"Is it the Black Man?" asked Pearl.

"Wilt thou go and play, child?" repeated her mother, "But do not

stray far into the wood. And take heed that thou come at my

first call."

"Yes, mother," answered Pearl, "But if it be the Black Man, wilt

thou not let me stay a moment, and look at him, with his big

book under his arm?"

"Go, silly child!" said her mother impatiently. "It is no Black

Man! Thou canst see him now, through the trees. It is the

minister!"

"And so it is!" said the child. "And, mother, he has his hand

over his heart! Is it because, when the minister wrote his name

in the book, the Black Man set his mark in that place? But why

does he not wear it outside his bosom, as thou dost, mother?"

"Go now, child, and thou shalt tease me as thou wilt another

time," cried Hester Prynne. "But do not stray far. Keep where

thou canst hear the babble of the brook."

The child went singing away, following up the current of the

brook, and striving to mingle a more lightsome cadence with its

melancholy voice. But the little stream would not be comforted,

and still kept telling its unintelligible secret of some very

mournful mystery that had happened--or making a prophetic

lamentation about something that was yet to happen--within the

verge of the dismal forest. So Pearl, who had enough of shadow

in her own little life, chose to break off all acquaintance with

this repining brook. She set herself, therefore, to gathering

violets and wood-anemones, and some scarlet columbines that she

found growing in the crevice of a high rock.

When her elf-child had departed, Hester Prynne made a step or

two towards the track that led through the forest, but still

remained under the deep shadow of the trees. She beheld the

minister advancing along the path entirely alone, and leaning on

a staff which he had cut by the wayside. He looked haggard and

feeble, and betrayed a nerveless despondency in his air, which

had never so remarkably characterised him in his walks about the

settlement, nor in any other situation where he deemed himself

liable to notice. Here it was wofully visible, in this intense

seclusion of the forest, which of itself would have been a heavy

trial to the spirits. There was a listlessness in his gait, as

if he saw no reason for taking one step further, nor felt any

desire to do so, but would have been glad, could he be glad of

anything, to fling himself down at the root of the nearest tree,

and lie there passive for evermore. The leaves might bestrew

him, and the soil gradually accumulate and form a little hillock

over his frame, no matter whether there were life in it or no.

Death was too definite an object to be wished for or avoided.