CHAPTER XII.
FAREWELL.
O quiet valley, opening to the East,
How far from this thy peacefulness am I!
Ah me, how far! and far this stream of life
From thy clear creek fast falling to the sea!
Yet let me not lament that these things are
In that loved country I shall see no more;
All that has been is mine inviolate,
Lock’d in the secret book of memory.
For the last time next morning I watched the blue and silver of my valley turn to gold and shining gems; for the last time listened to the merry singing of the river over its shingly shallows; for the last time heard the flutey bell-birds calling. There was a weight on my heart as I packed the sailor’s-bag, and when we sat down to our early breakfast we did not even revile the mangy cow who had paid her last visit in the night, and devoured the potatoes destined for our breakfast.
And then we tidied-up, swept our ungarnished chambers, and were getting the Berline dragged forward when Duncan came riding over the flat. Our now reduced stock was soon on board; the borrowed kerosene tin, tied on behind, clanged sympathetically to every groan of the Berline, as it lumbered its way across the uneven ground. We drove over the wide river-bed till we came
