Story about White Heron

WHITE HERON

          Sarah orne jewett was born in 1849 in south Berwick, Maine. She lived there quietly near the sea most of her life. She wrote stories about the simple lives of the country people around her. Her stories show her love of nature, as well as human nature. The woods, fields, and animals of Maine are almost like characters in her stories. Her best known book is called country of the pointed firs. Maine is well known for its pine and fir trees. In 1909, sarah orne jewett died in the same house in which she had been born and raised.

          The woods were already filled with shadows one june evening just before eight o’clock. Sylvia was driving her cow home. They turned deep into the dark woods. Their feet knew the way. The birds in the trees above her head seemed to sing “Good Night” to each other quietly. The air was soft and sweet. Sylvia felt a part of the gray shadows and the moving leaves, to sylvia, it seemed as if she hadn’t really been alive before she came to live with her grandmother in this beautiful place.

          Suddenly she heard a call. Not a bird’s call,which would have had a friendly sound. It was a young man’s call, sudden and loud. Sylvia left the cow alone and hid behind some leaves. But the young man saw her.

          “ halloa, little girl.how far is it to the road?”

          Sylvia was afraid. She answered in a soft voice,”a good ways...”

          I’m hunting for some birds,” the young man said kindly. He carried a gun over his shoulder.” I am lost and need a friend very much. Don’t be afraid. Speak up and tell me what your name is. Do you think i can spend the night at your house and go out hunting in the morning?”

          Sylvia was more afraid than ever. But she said her name and dropped her head like a broken flower.

          Her grandmother was waiting at the door. The cow gave a “moo..” as the three arrived.

          “yes, you should speak for yourself, you old cow,” said her grandmother.”where was she hiding so long, sylvi?”

          Sylvia didn’t speak. She tought her grandmother should be afraid of the stranger.

          But the young man stood his gun beside the door. He dropped a heavy gun-bag beside it. He said good evening and told the old woman his story.

          “dear me, yes “ she answered, “ you might do better if you went out to the road a mile away. But you’re welcome to what we’ve got. I’ll milk the cowright away. Now, you make yourself at home. Sylvia, stepround and set a plate for the gentleman !”

          Sylvia stepped. She was glad to have something to do and she was hungry.

          The young man was suprised to find such a comfortable, clean house in the deep wood’s of Maine. He thought this was the best supper he had eaten in a month. After supper the new made friends sat in the shadowed door way to watch the moon come up. The young man listened happily to the grandmother’s stories. The old woman talk most about her children, about her, daughter, sylvia’s mother, who had a hard life with so many children. About her son, Dan, who left home for california many year ago.

          “sylvi is like ban,” she said happily,” she knows every foot of the woods. She plays with the woods animals and feeds the birds. Yes, she’d give her own meals to them, if i didn’t watch her.

          “ so sylvi knows all about birds, does she?” asked the young man,” i’m trying to catch one of every kind.”

          “ Do you keep them alive?” asked the old woman

          “No, i stuff them in order to save them?” he answered. “ i have almost a hundred of them and i caught every one myself.”

Sylvia was watching a toad jump in the moonlight. “ i followed a bird here that i want to catch. A White Heron. You would know a heron if you saw it, sylvi,”he said hopfully. “a strange, tall white bird with long, thin legs.”

          Sylvia’s heart stopped. She knew that strange white bird.

          I want that bird more than anyting.”the young man went on.” I would give ten dollars to know where its nest is”

          Sylvia couldn’t believe there was so much money in the world. But she watched the toad and said nothing.

          The next day sylvia went with the young man into the woods. He was kind and friendly and told her many things about the birds. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore, perhaps in heart a dream of love was born. But she couldn’t understand why he killed and stuffed the birds he liked so much.

          At the edge of the woods a great pine tree stood. Sylvia knew it well. That night she tought of the tree. If she climbed it early in the morning, she could see the whole word. Couldn’t she watch the heron fly and find its hidden nest ? what an adventure it would be ! and now happy her friend would be ! the young man and the old woman slept well that night, but sylvia thought of her adventure. She forgot to think of sleep. At last, when the night birds stopped singing, she quietly left the house. 

          There was the tall pine tree, still asleep in the moonlight. First she climbed a smaller tree next to it. Then she made the dangerous step across to the old pine. The bird in the woods below her were waking up. She must climb faster if she wanted to see the heron as it left its nest. The tree seemed to grow taller as she went up. The pine tree must have been surprised to feel the small person climbing up. It must have loved this new animal in its arms. Perhaps it moved its branches a little, to help her climb. Sylvi’s face shone like a star when she reached the top. She was tired, but very happy. She could see ships out to sea .