. The Hoosier school-master : a novel . eams came downin a shower—to use Whittiers favorite metaphor—through themaple boughs, flecking the frozen ground with light and would have me tell of the evening star, not yet gone dowD,which shed its benediction on them. But I shall do no suchthing. For the moon was not shining, neither did the stars givetheir light. The tall black trunks of the maples swayed andshook in the wind, which moaned through their leafless always make lovers walk in the moonlight. But if loveis not, as the cynics believe, all moonshine, it can at le
. The Hoosier school-master : a novel . eams came downin a shower—to use Whittiers favorite metaphor—through themaple boughs, flecking the frozen ground with light and would have me tell of the evening star, not yet gone dowD,which shed its benediction on them. But I shall do no suchthing. For the moon was not shining, neither did the stars givetheir light. The tall black trunks of the maples swayed andshook in the wind, which moaned through their leafless always make lovers walk in the moonlight. But if loveis not, as the cynics believe, all moonshine, it can at least make itsown light. Moonlight is never so little needed or heeded, neverso much of an impertinence, as in a love-scene. It was at the bot-tom of the first hollow beyond the school-house that Ralphovertook the timid girl walking swiftly through the dark. Hedid not ask permission to walk with her. Love does not goby words, and there are times when conventionality is impos-sible. There are people who understand one another at HANNAH. TH?; NEW TC . THE WALK HOME. 59 When one Soul meets another, it is not by pass-word, nor by hail-ing sign, nor by mysterious grip, that they recognize. Thesubtlest freemasonry in the world is this freemasonry of thespirit Ralph and Hannah knew and trusted. Ralph had admiredand wondered at the quiet drudge. But it was when, in theunaccustomed sunshine of praise, she spread her wings a little,that he loved her. He had seen her awake. You, Miss Amelia, wish me to repeat all their love-talk. Iam afraid youd find it dull. Love can pipe through any kindof a reed. Ralph talked love to Hannah when he spoke of theweather, of the crops, of the spelling-school. Weather, crops,and spelling-school—these were what his words would say ifreported. But below all these commonplaces there vibratedsomething else. One can make love a great deal better whenone doesnt speak of love. Words are so poor! Tones andmodulations are better. It is an old story that
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