Читать книгу The Four-Masted Cat-Boat, and Other Truthful Tales - Charles Battell Loomis - Страница 15

XI

AN INVERTED SPRING IDYL

It was a bright morning in the early spring, a time to call forth poetic fancies in the mind of the most prosaic; and Jack was more imaginative than many boys. He had been spending the winter at his uncle’s in the country, and these warm, languorous days had made him long for New York once more. He sat astride of a maple-branch, on which the crimson leaves were just peeping out. Ah me, what would he not give to be back in the city! He leaned back against the tree-trunk and gave himself over to day-dreams.

The boys on his block were spinning tops. Oh, for a good hard city pavement for just five minutes, that he might do the same. Through the hazy air came the anything but drowsy tinklings of the grip-men’s gongs; a scissors-grinder blew his horn; and the exciting clang of an ambulance-gong split the air as the ambulance rattled over the Belgian blocks. Oh, for an hour of the dear city in the happy springtime! To hear once more the piano-organ and the harp, and the thousand delightful sounds that were so lamentably absent from the country!

What was that? Did he hear bells? Yes, surely it was the ragman. He had never realized how he loved him. He could see the fellow, lean and ragged and bent, pushing his cart, while from his lips came the cry of “Rha-ags! rha-ags!” and from the sagging cord the sweet bells jingled. Yes, surely it was the bells. All thought of the lonely country faded away, and he was once more home; the boys were just around the corner, and the bells were coming nearer.

Their tintinnabulations grew so loud that he waked from his day-dream and saw—not a familiar and beloved city sight, but a tiresome herd of cows coming home to be milked, their harsh bells jangling out of tune.