Rudolph lit again the hickory fires in the middle hearth; the
days shortened rapidly; sitting before the glow of the logs he could
see, through a western window, the afternoon expiring in a sullen red
flame. The leaves streamed sibilantly by the eaves and accumulated in
dry, russet heaps in angles and hollows; they burned in crackling fires,
filling the air with a drifting haze rich with suggestion and memories.
He saw the first snow on a leaden morning when the flexible and bald
white covering, devoid of charm, held the significance of barrenness,
death. All day this chilling similitude lingered in his mind. He walked
about the house slowly, unpleasantly conscious of the striking of his
feet on the wood floors.
At Christmas a revival of spirit overtook him; a long letter came from
Mariana, Bundy Provost sent him a tall silver tankard, with a lid, for
his night table. Howat, polishing his glass with a maroon bandanna, read
Mariana's letter in the yellow light of the lamp and burning logs.
"I have been to see a new steel process," she wrote; "the Duplex, with
immense tilting furnaces and the Bessemer blast. I know a great deal
about iron now; far more than a Howat Penny who should be an authority.
Jim is frightfully busy, but lately he has been able to sleep after the
night shift, which makes it better for every one.
Pages:
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416