The money for his lumber was in his pocket, he did not know ache or pain,
and he was going back to his home in an inmost recess of the mountains,
from which high point he could view the civil war passing around him
and far below. He could restrain himself no longer, and lifting up his
voice he sang.
But the song, like nearly all songs the mountaineers sing, had a
melancholy note.
"'Nita, 'Nita, Juanita,
Be my own fair bride."
He sang, and the wailing note, confined between the high walls of the
stream, took on a great increase in volume and power. Jarvis had one
of those uncommon voices sometimes found among the unlearned, a deep,
full tenor without a harsh note. When he sang he put his whole heart
into the words, and the effect was often wonderful. Harry roused
himself suddenly. He was hearing the same song that he had heard the
night he went into the river locked fast in Skelly's arms.
"'Nita, 'Nita, Juanita."
rang the tenor note, rising and falling and dying away in wailing echoes,
as the boat sped on. Then Harry resolutely turned his face to the
future. The will has a powerful effect over the young, and when he made
the effort to throw off sadness it fell easily from him.
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