Harry found that Jarvis was telling the truth. The long work and the
cool night air, without a roof above him, gave him a hunger, the like of
which he had not known for a long time. He ate cake after cake of the
corn bread and piece after piece of the meat. Jarvis and Ike kept him
full company.
"Didn't I tell you it was fine?" said Jarvis, stretching his long length
and sighing with content. "I feel so good that I'm near bustin' into
song."
"Then bust," said Harry.
"Soft, o'er the fountain, lingering falls the southern moon,
Far o'er the mountain breaks the day too soon.
In thy dark eyes' splendor, where the warm light loves to dwell,
Weary looks yet tender, speak their fond farewell.
'Nita, Juanita! Ask thy soul if we should part,
'Nita, Juanita! Lean thou on my heart."
The notes of the old melody swelled, and, as before, the deep channel
of the river gave them back again in faint and dying echoes. Time and
place and the voice of Jarvis, with its haunting quality, threw a spell
over Harry. The present rolled away. He was back in the romantic old
past, of which he had read so much, with Boone and Kenton and Harrod and
the other great forest rangers.
Pages:
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251