The man of mighty sinews and the boy of sinews
almost as mighty, pulled a long and regular stroke, without any
quickening of the breath.
The dawn deepened into the full morning. The silver of the river became
blue, with a filmy gold mist spread over it by the rising sun. High
banks crested with green enclosed them on either side, and beyond lay
higher hills, their slopes and summits all living green. The singing
of birds came from the bushes on the banks, and a sudden flash of flame
told where a scarlet tanager had crossed.
The last house of Frankfort dropped behind them, and soon the boat
was shooting along the deep channel cut by the Kentucky through the
Bluegrass, then the richest and most beautiful region of the west,
abounding in famous men and in the height of its glory. It had never
looked more splendid. The grass was deeply luxuriant and young flowers
bloomed at the water's edge. The fields were divided by neat stone
fences and far off Harry saw men working on the slopes.
Jarvis and Ike were still silent. The man glanced at Harry and saw that
he had not yet come from his absorption, but Samuel Jarvis was a joyous
soul. He was forty years old, and he had lived forty happy years.
Pages:
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245