Miss Grief and Other Stories Read Free

“we can find the house without trouble.” And he tossed a silver dollar to the little man, who was already turning his boat.
    â€œThank you,” said Liakim. “Be sure you take the ninth run and no other,—the ninth run from this boy. If you make any mistake, you’ll find yourselves miles away.”
    With this cheerful statement, he began to row back. I did not altogether fancy being left on the watery waste without a guide; the name, too, of our mythic host did not bring up a certainty of supper and beds. “Waiting Samuel,” I repeated, doubtfully. “What is he waiting for?” I called back over my shoulder; for Raymond was rowing.
    â€œThe judgment-day!” answered Liakim, in a shrill key. The boats were now far apart; another turn, and we were alone.
    We glided on, counting the runs on the right: some were wide, promising rivers; others wee little rivulets; the eighth was far away; and, when we had passed it, we could hardly decide whether we had reached the ninth or not, so small was the opening, so choked with weeds, showing scarcely a gleam of water beyond when we stood up to inspect it.
    â€œIt is certainly the ninth, and I vote that we try it. It will do as well as another, and I, for one, am in no hurry to arrive anywhere,” said Raymond, pushing the boat in among the reeds.
    â€œDo you want to lose yourself in this wilderness?” I asked, making a flag of my handkerchief to mark the spot where we had left the main stream.
    â€œI think we are lost already,” was the calm reply. I began to fear we were.
    For some distance the “run,” as Liakim called it, continued choked with aquatic vegetation, which acted like so many devil-fish catching our oars; at length it widened and gradually gave us a clear channel, albeit so winding and erratic that the glow of the sunset, our only beacon, seemed to be executing a waltz all round the horizon. At length we saw a dark spot on the left, and distinguished the outline of a low house. “There it is,” I said, plying my oars with renewed strength. But the run turned short off in the opposite direction, and the house disappeared. After some time it rose again, this time on our right, but once more the run turned its back and shot off on a tangent. The sun had gone, and the rapid twilight of September was falling around us; the air, however, was singularly clear, and, as there was absolutely nothing to make a shadow, the darkness came on evenly over the level green. I was growing anxious, when a third time the house appeared, but the wilful run passed by it, although so near that we could distinguish its open windows and door. “Why not get out and wade across?” I suggested.
    â€œAccording to Liakim, it is the duty of this run to take us to the very door of Waiting Samuel’s mansion, and it shall take us,” said Raymond, rowing on. It did.
    Doubling upon itself in the most unexpected manner, it brought us back to a little island, where the tall grass had given way to a vegetable-garden. We landed, secured our boat, and walked up the pathway toward the house. In the dusk it seemed to be a low, square structure, built of planks covered with plaster; the roof was flat, the windows unusually broad,the door stood open,—but no one appeared. We knocked. A voice from within called out, “Who are you, and what do you want with Waiting Samuel?”
    â€œPilgrims, asking for food and shelter,” replied Raymond.
    â€œDo you know the ways of righteousness?”
    â€œWe can learn them.”
    â€œWill you conform to the rules of this household without murmuring?”
    â€œWe will.”
    â€œEnter then, and peace be with you!” said the voice, drawing nearer. We stepped cautiously through the dark passage into a room, whose open windows let in sufficient twilight to show us a shadowy figure. “Seat yourselves,” it said. We found a bench, and sat