V.
For a year the tide had ebbed and flowed on the Dedlow Marsh
unheeded before the sealed and sightless windows of the
"Kingfisher's Nest." Since the young birds had flown to Logport,
even the Indian caretakers had abandoned the piled dwelling for
their old nomadic haunts in the "bresh." The high spring tide had
again made its annual visit to the little cemetery of drift-wood,
and, as if recognizing another wreck in the deserted home, had hung
a few memorial offerings on the blackened piles, softly laid a
garland of grayish drift before it, and then sobbed itself out in
the salt grass.
From time to time the faint echoes of the Culpeppers' life at
Logport reached the upland, and the few neighbors who had only
known them by hearsay shook their heads over the extravagance they
as yet only knew by report. But it was in the dead ebb of the tide
and the waning daylight that the feathered tenants of the Marsh
seemed to voice dismal prophecies of the ruin of their old master
and mistress, and to give themselves up to gloomiest lamentation
and querulous foreboding. Whether the traditional "bird of the
air" had entrusted his secret to a few ornithological friends, or
whether from a natural disposition to take gloomy views of life, it
was certain that at this hour the vocal expression of the Marsh was
hopeless and despairing. It was then that a dejected plover,
addressing a mocking crew of sandpipers on a floating log, seemed
to bewail the fortune that was being swallowed up by the riotous
living and gambling debts of Jim.
Pages:
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75