Thiswoman，onawindmilltowerattheworld’sendwithagiantbarbarian，heardthatcrytonight，andshewasafraid！Ah！
theterrorandthedelightofthatmomentwhenfirstwefearourselves！Untilthenwehavenotlived。
“Come，Eric，letusgodown；themoonisupandthemusichasbegunagain，“shesaid。
Herosesilentlyandsteppeddownupontheladder，puttinghisarmabouthertohelpher。ThatarmcouldhavethrownThor’shammeroutinthecornfieldsyonder，yetitscarcelytouchedher，andhishandtrembledasithaddoneinthedance。Hisfacewaslevelwithhersnowandthemoonlightfellsharplyuponit。Allherlifeshehadsearchedthefacesofmenforthelookthatlayinhiseyes。Sheknewthatthatlookhadnevershoneforherbefore，wouldnevershineforheronearthagain，thatsuchlovecomestooneonlyindreamsorinimpossibleplaceslikethis，unattainablealways。ThiswasLove’sself，inamomentitwoulddie。Stungbytheagonizedappealthatemanatedfromtheman’swholebeing，sheleanedforwardandlaidherlipsonhis。Once，twiceandagainsheheardthedeeprespirationsrattleinhisthroatwhilesheheldthemthere，andtheriotousforceunderherheadbecameanengulfingweakness。Hedrewheruptohimuntilhefeltalltheresistancegooutofherbody，untileverynerverelaxedandyielded。Whenshedrewherfacebackfromhis，itwaswhitewithfear。
“Letusgodown，oh，myGod！letusgodown！“shemuttered。
Andthedrunkenstarsupyonderseemedreelingtosomeappointeddoomassheclungtotheroundsoftheladder。Allthatshewastoknowofloveshehadleftuponhislips。
“Thedevilislooseagain，“whisperedOlafOleson，ashesawEricdancingamomentlater，hiseyesblazing。
ButEricwasthinkingwithanalmostsavageexultationofthetimewhenheshouldpayforthis。Ah，therewouldbenoquailingthen！ifeverasoulwentfearlessly，proudlydowntothegatesinfernal，hisshouldgo。Foramomenthefanciedhewastherealready，treadingdownthetempestofflame，huggingthefieryhurricanetohisbreast。Hewonderedwhetherinagesgone，allthecountlessyearsofsinninginwhichmenhadsoldandlostandflungtheirsoulsaway，anymanhadeversocheatedSatan，hadeverbarteredhissoulforsogreataprice。
Itseemedbutalittlewhiletilldawn。
ThecarriagewasbroughttothedoorandWyllisElliotandhissistersaidgoodbye。ShecouldnotmeetEric’seyesasshegavehimherhand，butashestoodbythehorse’shead，justasthecarriagemovedoff，shegavehimoneswiftglancethatsaid，“I
willnotforget。“Inamomentthecarriagewasgone。
Ericchangedhiscoatandplungedhisheadintothewatertankandwenttothebarntohookuphisteam。Asheledhishorsestothedoor，ashadowfellacrosshispath，andhesawSkinnerrisinginhisstirrups。Hisruggedfacewaspaleandwornwithlookingafterhiswaywardflock，withdraggingmenintothewayofsalvation。
“Goodmorning，Eric。Therewasadanceherelastnight？“heasked，sternly。
“Adance？Oh，yes，adance，“repliedEric，cheerfully。
“Certainlyyoudidnotdance，Eric？“
“Yes，Idanced。Idancedallthetime。“
Theminister’sshouldersdrooped，andanexpressionofprofounddiscouragementsettledoverhishaggardface。Therewasalmostanguishintheyearninghefeltforthissoul。
“Eric，Ididn’tlookforthisfromyou。IthoughtGodhadsethismarkonyouifheeverhadonanyman。AnditisforthingslikethisthatyousetyoursoulbackathousandyearsfromGod。0
foolishandperversegeneration！“
Ericdrewhimselfuptohisfullheightandlookedofftowherethenewdaywasgildingthecorn-tasselsandfloodingtheuplandswithlight。Ashisnostrilsdrewinthebreathofthedewandthemorning，somethingfromtheonlypoetryhehadeverreadflashedacrosshismind，andhemurmured，halftohimself，withdreamyexultation:
“’Andadayshallbeasathousandyears，andathousandyearsasaday。’“
EndTheEnchantedBluffWehadourswimbeforesundown，andwhilewewerecookingoursuppertheobliqueraysoflightmadeadazzlingglareonthewhitesandaboutus。Thetranslucentredballitselfsankbehindthebrownstretchesofcornfieldaswesatdowntoeat，andthewarmlayerofairthathadrestedoverthewaterandourcleansandbargrewfresherandsmelledoftherankironweedandsunflowersgrowingontheflattershore。Theriverwasbrownandsluggish，likeanyotherofthehalf-dozenstreamsthatwatertheNebraskacornlands。Ononeshorewasanirregularlineofbaldclaybluffswhereafewscruboakswiththicktrunksandflat，twistedtopsthrewlightshadowsonthelonggrass。Thewesternshorewaslowandlevel，withcornfieldsthatstretchedtotheskyline，andallalongthewater’sedgewerelittlesandycovesandbeacheswhereslimcottonwoodsandwillowsaplingsflickered。
Theturbulenceoftheriverinspringtimediscouragedmilling，and，beyondkeepingtheoldredbridgeinrepair，thebusyfarmersdidnotconcernthemselveswiththestream；sotheSandtownboyswereleftinundisputedpossession。Intheautumnwehuntedquailthroughthemilesofstubbleandfodderlandalongtheflatshore，and，afterthewinterskatingseasonwasoverandtheicehadgoneout，thespringfreshetsandfloodedbottomsgaveusourgreatexcitementoftheyear。Thechannelwasneverthesamefortwosuccessiveseasons。Everyspringtheswollenstreamunderminedablufftotheeast，orbitoutafewacresofcornfieldtothewestandwhirledthesoilaway，todeposititinspumymudbankssomewhereelse。Whenthewaterfelllowinmidsummer，newsandbarswerethusexposedtodryandwhitenintheAugustsun。
Sometimesthesewerebankedsofirmlythatthefuryofthenextfreshetfailedtounseatthem；thelittlewillowseedlingsemergedtriumphantlyfromtheyellowfroth，brokeintospringleaf，shotupintosummergrowth，andwiththeirmeshofrootsboundtogetherthemoistsandbeneaththemagainstthebatteringsofanotherApril。
Hereandthereacottonwoodsoonglitteredamongthem，quiveringinthelowcurrentofairthat，evenonbreathlessdayswhenthedusthunglikesmokeabovethewagonroad，trembledalongthefaceofthewater。
Itwasonsuchanisland，inthethirdsummerofitsyellowgreen，thatwebuiltourwatchfire；notinthethicketofdancingwillowwands，butonthelevelterraceoffinesandwhichhadbeenaddedthatspring；alittlenewbitofworld，beautifullyridgedwithripplemarks，andstrewnwiththetinyskeletonsofturtlesandfish，allaswhiteanddryasiftheyhadbeenexpertlycured。
Wehadbeencarefulnottomarthefreshnessoftheplace，althoughweoftenswamtoitonsummereveningsandlayonthesandtorest。
Thiswasourlastwatchfireoftheyear，andtherewerereasonswhyIshouldrememberitbetterthananyoftheothers。
NextweektheotherboysweretofilebacktotheiroldplacesintheSandtownHighSchool，butIwastogouptotheDividetoteachmyfirstcountryschoolintheNorwegiandistrict。IwasalreadyhomesickatthethoughtofquittingtheboyswithwhomIhadalwaysplayed；ofleavingtheriver，andgoingupintoawindyplainthatwasallwindmillsandcornfieldsandbigpastures；wheretherewasnothingwilfulorunmanageableinthelandscape，nonewislands，andnochanceofunfamiliarbirds——suchasoftenfollowedthewatercourses。
Otherboyscameandwentandusedtheriverforfishingorskating，butwesixweresworntothespiritofthestream，andwewerefriendsmainlybecauseoftheriver。TherewerethetwoHasslerboys，FritzandOtto，sonsofthelittleGermantailor。
Theyweretheyoungestofus；raggedboysoftenandtwelve，withsunburnedhair，weather-stainedfaces，andpaleblueeyes。Otto，theelder，wasthebestmathematicianinschool，andcleverathisbooks，buthealwaysdroppedoutinthespringtermasiftherivercouldnotgetonwithouthim。HeandFritzcaughtthefat，hornedcatfishandsoldthemaboutthetown，andtheylivedsomuchinthewaterthattheywereasbrownandsandyastheriveritself。
TherewasPercyPound，afat，freckledboywithchubbycheeks，whotookhalfadozenboys’story-papersandwasalwaysbeingkeptinforreadingdetectivestoriesbehindhisdesk。TherewasTipSmith，destinedbyhisfrecklesandredhairtobethebuffooninallourgames，thoughhewalkedlikeatimidlittleoldmanandhadafunny，crackedlaugh。Tipworkedhardinhisfather’sgrocerystoreeveryafternoon，andsweptitoutbeforeschoolinthemorning。Evenhisrecreationswerelaborious。Hecollectedcigarettecardsandtintobacco-tagsindefatigably，andwouldsitforhourshumpedupoverasnarlinglittlescroll-sawwhichhekeptinhisattic。HisdearestpossessionsweresomelittlepillbottlesthatpurportedtocontaingrainsofwheatfromtheHolyLand，waterfromtheJordanandtheDeadSea，andearthfromtheMountofOlives。HisfatherhadboughtthesedullthingsfromaBaptistmissionarywhopeddledthem，andTipseemedtoderivegreatsatisfactionfromtheirremoteorigin。
ThetallboywasArthurAdams。Hehadfinehazelevesthatwerealmosttooreflectiveandsympatheticforaboy，andsuchapleasantvoicethatwealllovedtohearhimreadaloud。Evenwhenhehadtoreadpoetryaloudatschool，nooneeverthoughtoflaughing。Tobesure，hewasnotatschoolverymuchofthetime。
HewasseventeenandshouldhavefinishedtheHighSchooltheyearbefore，buthewasalwaysoffsomewherewithhisgun。Arthur’smotherwasdead，andhisfather，whowasfeverishlyabsorbedinpromotingschemes，wantedtosendtheboyawaytoschoolandgethimoffhishands；butArthuralwaysbeggedoffforanotheryearandpromisedtostudy。Irememberhimasatall，brownboywithanintelligentface，alwaysloungingamongalotofuslittlefellows，laughingatusoftenerthanwithus，butsuchasoft，satisfiedlaughthatwefeltratherflatteredwhenweprovokedit。Inafter-yearspeoplesaidthatArthurhadbeengiventoevilwaysasa]ad，anditistruethatweoftensawhimwiththegambler’ssonsandwitholdSpanishFanny’sboy，butifhelearnedanythinguglyintheircompanyheneverbetrayedittous。WewouldhavefollowedArthuranywhere，andIamboundtosaythatheledusintonoworseplacesthanthecattailmarshesandthestubblefields。
