Upon yonder breezy hill they used to sit and count
the sails turning alternately bright and dark as the vessels tacked
up the broad river. There was a stretch of green lawn, still green
as it was in his memory--how everlasting are God's colors! There he
had taught Amelie to ride, and, holding fast, ran by her side,
keeping pace with her flying Indian pony. How beautiful and fresh
the picture of her remained in his memory!--the soft white dress she
wore, her black hair streaming over her shoulders, her dark eyes
flashing delight, her merry laugh rivalling the trill of the
blackbird which flew over their heads chattering for very joy.
Before him lay the pretty brook with its rustic bridge reflecting
itself in the clear water as in a mirror. That path along the bank
led down to the willows where the big mossy stones lay in the stream
and the silvery salmon and speckled trout lay fanning the water
gently with their fins as they contemplated their shadows on the
smooth, sandy bottom.
Pierre Philibert sat down on a stone by the side of the brook and
watched the shoals of minnows move about in little battalions,
wheeling like soldiers to the right or left at a wave of the hand.
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