Pine Mountain

I.

The sun was setting. Its golden rays were circling the tops of the giant pines. The gurgling of a brook, half hidden beneath the moss and bushes, lent an uncanny sound to the still atmosphere. In the distance the peaks of high mountains could be seen, snow-capped, and seeming to pierce the very depths of the azure sky. Here and there could be seen the trunks of huge trees that had fallen years before, now overgrown with moss and creeping vines. The birds had ceased their daily activities and were returning to their nests. Not far away a turtledove was caroling her notes to the still earth. It seemed that all earth and Nature was aware that the day was Easter.

Suddenly there appeared at the foot of the highest hill the figure of an old man, leaning heavily upon a staff. He seemed to have come from nowhere. His grisly beard fell almost to his waist, and the hand that gripped the staff was wrinkled and trembling. For a moment his dim blue eyes gazed at the setting sun, then as if overcome with the holiness of the scene, he dropped upon his knees and his feeble voice was lifted heavenward in prayer:

"O Lord!" he prayed, "I thank Thee for the privilege of once more casting eyes upon this holy scene. I may not live to view this dear spot again, O Lord, but may the earnest prayer of this old heart be answered, and I meet her in the Great Beyond, where there are no partings and no broken hearts. Amen."

Overcome with strong emotions, he remained a moment longer in deep supplications, then, slowly rising and gazing once more at the sunset; he slowly walked away in the direction he had come. There followed the sound of carriage wheels on the road below, which died away, leaving a calm not unlike the calm, holiness of a church.

II.

'Twas just one year since Leo Nicols had knelt in prayer at the foot of Pine Mountain. The sky seemed bluer, the air more fragrant and the birds' song sweeter. Many things have happened in that year; there is a fresh mound of clay in a quiet corner of the Elmwood cemetery at Springdale - the town not ten miles away.

Scarcely two months have elapsed since Nelson Crain knelt at the deathbed of his granduncle, Leo Nicols.

"My boy," the old man had said, laying his hand upon the youth’s head, "You know the story of my life, how I broke the heart of my sweetheart, Laura Goldman who has been dead these sixty years. Poor girl, I will soon be with her. You have, "he continued, "Made good in the world for so young a boy, but will you grant me the last request that I will ever make of you?"

"I'll do anything you ask, Uncle," sobbed the boy, for the old man had been as a loving father to him.

"Then," said the old man, "When I am gone, place a memorial stone at the foot of Pine Mountain, at the place where, four years ago I pointed out to you, - the trysting place; that the story of my ruined life, my lost hopes, may serve as a warning for the generations to come." Then, he had died and to day his grandnephew had come to break an even greater calm than the old man had broken the Easter before.

A marble stone had been placed at the spot requested, soon after the old man had died, and Nelson Crain was placing flowers on it when he heard a sound alien to any he would expect to hear in so far remote a place. His heart stood still, when he beheld a beautiful, girlish figure coming down the mountainside. When she saw him she stopped a moment, then advanced, holding out her hand.

"My name is Foster, "she said, "Hallie Foster."

"And my name, " stammered the young man, "is Nelson Crain. May I inquire where you are going?"

"Right here, that is if this is the celebrated 'trysting place'.

"It is" he answered, looking at her with admiration plainly showing in his clear, blue eyes. She was tall and slender; her chestnut hair was almost hidden under a broad brimmed hat, - too broad, Nelson thought, a small hat would have made her look much better, or, no, a crown of gold would not have been too good for her, she looked more like a queen than just an everyday sort of person.

"I guess you are wondering why I am out here in this lonely place, are you not?" she asks, indicating the ravine with a sweep of her dainty white hands.

For an answer, he made a place for her to sit down.

"Well"? She said, "It's a long story. My mothers aunt was Laura Goldman", she stopped at the look on her companions face;

"Go on," he said hoarsely;

"Well" she resumed, "I was rummaging through an old trunk in the attic of my grandmothers house, a few weeks ago, and I found an old diary, written by my grandaunt, sixty years ago. It seems, she was the sweetheart of a Mr. Nicols, but they quarreled, here, that Easter, sixty years ago. It seems she said to him, "go, Leo, heaven forgive me but the lips of Laura Goldman shall never speak another word to you here on earth". Then they parted and she died, a few months afterward. The story the diary told impressed me so that I ask grandmother all about it. She told me not only what I already knew, but also that aunt Laura's lover was dead now, and that at the foot of Pine Mountain is a place that the two families call "the trysting place". That is all, except when Mother ask me where I wished to go to spend the summer, I said, 'Pine Mountain" and we are now staying at the little cottage half-mile down the road".

When she had finished, Nelson looked at her and said, "I think I owe you an explanation in exchange for yours, that is, if you wish to hear."

"O do" she cried, "I do so want to hear what you have to say and I think this is the loveliest place, no wonder the lovers lost their senses here under the witchery of the hills".

There-upon Nelson related the story of his granduncle and finished by saying that he "thought it a queer coincidence that we should meet on the sixtieth anniversary of the quarrel, and if you do not mind I will accompany you to your home."

Of course she didn't mind and said so; she also thought the country was very lonely despite the beauty of it and the hospitality of the mountaineers and "wouldn't he call to see her sometime"

He replied that he would be glad to do so.

So stared their friendship.

Written by Ida May Schaffer