"Wast sure, Charity, that the howl we heard from the forest was the yell
of the beaten hound?" demanded a handmaiden of Ruth, of a blue-eyed
companion, who seemed equally well disposed to contribute her share of
evidence in support of any exciting legend.
"It might have been other," was the answer "though the hunters do speak of
their having beaten the pup for restiveness."
"There was a tumult among the echoes, that sounded like the noises which
follow the uproar of a falling tree," said Ruth, thoughtfully. "I remember
to have asked if it might not be that some fierce beast had caused a
general discharge of the musketry, but my father was of opinion that death
had undermined some heavy oak."
"At what hour might this have happened?"
"It was past the turn of the day; for it was at the moment I bethought me
of the hunger of those who had toiled since light, in the hills."
"That then was the sound I mean. It came not from falling tree, but was
uttered in the air, far above all forests. Had it been heard by one better
skilled in the secrets of nature----"
"He would say it thundered;" interrupted Faith Ring, who, unlike most of
the other listeners, manifested little of the quality which was expressed
by her name.
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