Some months back, her brother, only seventeen, had come hither, a longway from the other side, to cut wood and burn coal, and she, eldersister, had accompanied, him. Long had they been orphans, and now, soleinhabitants of the sole house upon the mountain. No guest came, notraveler passed. The zigzag, perilous road was only used at seasons bythe coal wagons. The brother was absent the entire day, sometimes theentire night. When at evening, fagged out, he did come home, he soonleft his bench, poor fellow, for his bed; just as one, at last, wearilyquits that, too, for still deeper rest. The bench, the bed, the grave.
Silent I stood by the fairy window, while these things were being told.
"Do you know," said she at last, as stealing from her story, "do youknow who lives yonder?--I have never been down into that country--awayoff there, I mean; that house, that marble one," pointing far across thelower landscape; "have you not caught it? there, on the long hill-side:the field before, the woods behind; the white shines out against theirblue; don't you mark it? the only house in sight."
I looked; and after a time, to my surprise, recognized, more by itsposition than its aspect, or Marianna's description, my own abode,glimmering much like this mountain one from the piazza. The mirage hazemade it appear less a farm-house than King Charming's palace.
"I have often wondered who lives there; but it must be some happy one;again this morning was I thinking so."
"Some happy one," returned I, starting; "and why do you think that? Youjudge some rich one lives there?"
"Rich or not, I never thought; but it looks so happy, I can't tell how;and it is so far away. Sometimes I think I do but dream it is there.You should see it in a sunset."
