Thiswoman，onawindmilltowerattheworld’sendwithagiantbarbarian，heardthatcrytonight，andshewasafraid！Ah！
　　theterrorandthedelightofthatmomentwhenfirstwefearourselves！Untilthenwehavenotlived。
　　“Come，Eric，letusgodown；themoonisupandthemusichasbegunagain，“shesaid。
　　Herosesilentlyandsteppeddownupontheladder，puttinghisarmabouthertohelpher。ThatarmcouldhavethrownThor’shammeroutinthecornfieldsyonder，yetitscarcelytouchedher，andhishandtrembledasithaddoneinthedance。Hisfacewaslevelwithhersnowandthemoonlightfellsharplyuponit。Allherlifeshehadsearchedthefacesofmenforthelookthatlayinhiseyes。Sheknewthatthatlookhadnevershoneforherbefore，wouldnevershineforheronearthagain，thatsuchlovecomestooneonlyindreamsorinimpossibleplaceslikethis，unattainablealways。ThiswasLove’sself，inamomentitwoulddie。Stungbytheagonizedappealthatemanatedfromtheman’swholebeing，sheleanedforwardandlaidherlipsonhis。Once，twiceandagainsheheardthedeeprespirationsrattleinhisthroatwhilesheheldthemthere，andtheriotousforceunderherheadbecameanengulfingweakness。Hedrewheruptohimuntilhefeltalltheresistancegooutofherbody，untileverynerverelaxedandyielded。Whenshedrewherfacebackfromhis，itwaswhitewithfear。
　　“Letusgodown，oh，myGod！letusgodown！“shemuttered。
　　Andthedrunkenstarsupyonderseemedreelingtosomeappointeddoomassheclungtotheroundsoftheladder。Allthatshewastoknowofloveshehadleftuponhislips。
　　“Thedevilislooseagain，“whisperedOlafOleson，ashesawEricdancingamomentlater，hiseyesblazing。
　　ButEricwasthinkingwithanalmostsavageexultationofthetimewhenheshouldpayforthis。Ah，therewouldbenoquailingthen！ifeverasoulwentfearlessly，proudlydowntothegatesinfernal，hisshouldgo。Foramomenthefanciedhewastherealready，treadingdownthetempestofflame，huggingthefieryhurricanetohisbreast。Hewonderedwhetherinagesgone，allthecountlessyearsofsinninginwhichmenhadsoldandlostandflungtheirsoulsaway，anymanhadeversocheatedSatan，hadeverbarteredhissoulforsogreataprice。
　　Itseemedbutalittlewhiletilldawn。
　　ThecarriagewasbroughttothedoorandWyllisElliotandhissistersaidgoodbye。ShecouldnotmeetEric’seyesasshegavehimherhand，butashestoodbythehorse’shead，justasthecarriagemovedoff，shegavehimoneswiftglancethatsaid，“I
　　willnotforget。“Inamomentthecarriagewasgone。
　　Ericchangedhiscoatandplungedhisheadintothewatertankandwenttothebarntohookuphisteam。Asheledhishorsestothedoor，ashadowfellacrosshispath，andhesawSkinnerrisinginhisstirrups。Hisruggedfacewaspaleandwornwithlookingafterhiswaywardflock，withdraggingmenintothewayofsalvation。
　　“Goodmorning，Eric。Therewasadanceherelastnight？“heasked，sternly。
　　“Adance？Oh，yes，adance，“repliedEric，cheerfully。
　　“Certainlyyoudidnotdance，Eric？“
　　“Yes，Idanced。Idancedallthetime。“
　　Theminister’sshouldersdrooped，andanexpressionofprofounddiscouragementsettledoverhishaggardface。Therewasalmostanguishintheyearninghefeltforthissoul。
　　“Eric，Ididn’tlookforthisfromyou。IthoughtGodhadsethismarkonyouifheeverhadonanyman。AnditisforthingslikethisthatyousetyoursoulbackathousandyearsfromGod。0
　　foolishandperversegeneration！“
　　Ericdrewhimselfuptohisfullheightandlookedofftowherethenewdaywasgildingthecorn-tasselsandfloodingtheuplandswithlight。Ashisnostrilsdrewinthebreathofthedewandthemorning，somethingfromtheonlypoetryhehadeverreadflashedacrosshismind，andhemurmured，halftohimself，withdreamyexultation:
　　“’Andadayshallbeasathousandyears，andathousandyearsasaday。’“
　　EndTheEnchantedBluffWehadourswimbeforesundown，andwhilewewerecookingoursuppertheobliqueraysoflightmadeadazzlingglareonthewhitesandaboutus。Thetranslucentredballitselfsankbehindthebrownstretchesofcornfieldaswesatdowntoeat，andthewarmlayerofairthathadrestedoverthewaterandourcleansandbargrewfresherandsmelledoftherankironweedandsunflowersgrowingontheflattershore。Theriverwasbrownandsluggish，likeanyotherofthehalf-dozenstreamsthatwatertheNebraskacornlands。Ononeshorewasanirregularlineofbaldclaybluffswhereafewscruboakswiththicktrunksandflat，twistedtopsthrewlightshadowsonthelonggrass。Thewesternshorewaslowandlevel，withcornfieldsthatstretchedtotheskyline，andallalongthewater’sedgewerelittlesandycovesandbeacheswhereslimcottonwoodsandwillowsaplingsflickered。
　　Theturbulenceoftheriverinspringtimediscouragedmilling，and，beyondkeepingtheoldredbridgeinrepair，thebusyfarmersdidnotconcernthemselveswiththestream；sotheSandtownboyswereleftinundisputedpossession。Intheautumnwehuntedquailthroughthemilesofstubbleandfodderlandalongtheflatshore，and，afterthewinterskatingseasonwasoverandtheicehadgoneout，thespringfreshetsandfloodedbottomsgaveusourgreatexcitementoftheyear。Thechannelwasneverthesamefortwosuccessiveseasons。Everyspringtheswollenstreamunderminedablufftotheeast，orbitoutafewacresofcornfieldtothewestandwhirledthesoilaway，todeposititinspumymudbankssomewhereelse。Whenthewaterfelllowinmidsummer，newsandbarswerethusexposedtodryandwhitenintheAugustsun。
　　Sometimesthesewerebankedsofirmlythatthefuryofthenextfreshetfailedtounseatthem；thelittlewillowseedlingsemergedtriumphantlyfromtheyellowfroth，brokeintospringleaf，shotupintosummergrowth，andwiththeirmeshofrootsboundtogetherthemoistsandbeneaththemagainstthebatteringsofanotherApril。
　　Hereandthereacottonwoodsoonglitteredamongthem，quiveringinthelowcurrentofairthat，evenonbreathlessdayswhenthedusthunglikesmokeabovethewagonroad，trembledalongthefaceofthewater。
　　Itwasonsuchanisland，inthethirdsummerofitsyellowgreen，thatwebuiltourwatchfire；notinthethicketofdancingwillowwands，butonthelevelterraceoffinesandwhichhadbeenaddedthatspring；alittlenewbitofworld，beautifullyridgedwithripplemarks，andstrewnwiththetinyskeletonsofturtlesandfish，allaswhiteanddryasiftheyhadbeenexpertlycured。
　　Wehadbeencarefulnottomarthefreshnessoftheplace，althoughweoftenswamtoitonsummereveningsandlayonthesandtorest。
　　Thiswasourlastwatchfireoftheyear，andtherewerereasonswhyIshouldrememberitbetterthananyoftheothers。
　　NextweektheotherboysweretofilebacktotheiroldplacesintheSandtownHighSchool，butIwastogouptotheDividetoteachmyfirstcountryschoolintheNorwegiandistrict。IwasalreadyhomesickatthethoughtofquittingtheboyswithwhomIhadalwaysplayed；ofleavingtheriver，andgoingupintoawindyplainthatwasallwindmillsandcornfieldsandbigpastures；wheretherewasnothingwilfulorunmanageableinthelandscape，nonewislands，andnochanceofunfamiliarbirds——suchasoftenfollowedthewatercourses。
　　Otherboyscameandwentandusedtheriverforfishingorskating，butwesixweresworntothespiritofthestream，andwewerefriendsmainlybecauseoftheriver。TherewerethetwoHasslerboys，FritzandOtto，sonsofthelittleGermantailor。
　　Theyweretheyoungestofus；raggedboysoftenandtwelve，withsunburnedhair，weather-stainedfaces，andpaleblueeyes。Otto，theelder，wasthebestmathematicianinschool，andcleverathisbooks，buthealwaysdroppedoutinthespringtermasiftherivercouldnotgetonwithouthim。HeandFritzcaughtthefat，hornedcatfishandsoldthemaboutthetown，andtheylivedsomuchinthewaterthattheywereasbrownandsandyastheriveritself。
　　TherewasPercyPound，afat，freckledboywithchubbycheeks，whotookhalfadozenboys’story-papersandwasalwaysbeingkeptinforreadingdetectivestoriesbehindhisdesk。TherewasTipSmith，destinedbyhisfrecklesandredhairtobethebuffooninallourgames，thoughhewalkedlikeatimidlittleoldmanandhadafunny，crackedlaugh。Tipworkedhardinhisfather’sgrocerystoreeveryafternoon，andsweptitoutbeforeschoolinthemorning。Evenhisrecreationswerelaborious。Hecollectedcigarettecardsandtintobacco-tagsindefatigably，andwouldsitforhourshumpedupoverasnarlinglittlescroll-sawwhichhekeptinhisattic。HisdearestpossessionsweresomelittlepillbottlesthatpurportedtocontaingrainsofwheatfromtheHolyLand，waterfromtheJordanandtheDeadSea，andearthfromtheMountofOlives。HisfatherhadboughtthesedullthingsfromaBaptistmissionarywhopeddledthem，andTipseemedtoderivegreatsatisfactionfromtheirremoteorigin。
　　ThetallboywasArthurAdams。Hehadfinehazelevesthatwerealmosttooreflectiveandsympatheticforaboy，andsuchapleasantvoicethatwealllovedtohearhimreadaloud。Evenwhenhehadtoreadpoetryaloudatschool，nooneeverthoughtoflaughing。Tobesure，hewasnotatschoolverymuchofthetime。
　　HewasseventeenandshouldhavefinishedtheHighSchooltheyearbefore，buthewasalwaysoffsomewherewithhisgun。Arthur’smotherwasdead，andhisfather，whowasfeverishlyabsorbedinpromotingschemes，wantedtosendtheboyawaytoschoolandgethimoffhishands；butArthuralwaysbeggedoffforanotheryearandpromisedtostudy。Irememberhimasatall，brownboywithanintelligentface，alwaysloungingamongalotofuslittlefellows，laughingatusoftenerthanwithus，butsuchasoft，satisfiedlaughthatwefeltratherflatteredwhenweprovokedit。Inafter-yearspeoplesaidthatArthurhadbeengiventoevilwaysasa]ad，anditistruethatweoftensawhimwiththegambler’ssonsandwitholdSpanishFanny’sboy，butifhelearnedanythinguglyintheircompanyheneverbetrayedittous。WewouldhavefollowedArthuranywhere，andIamboundtosaythatheledusintonoworseplacesthanthecattailmarshesandthestubblefields。