Some of the windows of the house were open, but with no
more signs of life than in a dead man's unshut eyes. The barn-door
was ajar, and swinging in the
breeze. The big old dog,--he was a relic of the former dynasty of
the farm,--that hardly ever stirred out of the yard, was nowhere to
be seen. What, then, had become of all the fraternity and
sisterhood? Curious to ascertain this point, I let myself down out
of the tree, and going to the edge of the wood, was glad to perceive
our herd of cows chewing the cud or grazing not far off. I fancied,
by their manner, that two or three of them recognized me (as, indeed,
they ought, for I had milked them and been their chamberlain times
without number); but, after staring me in the face a little while,
they phlegmatically began grazing and chewing their cuds again. Then
I grew foolishly angry at so cold a reception, and flung some rotten
fragments of an old stump at these unsentimental cows.
Skirting farther round the pasture, I heard voices and much laughter
proceeding from the interior of the wood. Voices, male and feminine;
laughter, not only of fresh young throats, but the bass of grown
people, as if solemn organ-pipes should pour out airs of merriment.
Not a voice spoke, but I knew it better than my own; not a laugh, but
its cadences were familiar. The wood, in this portion of it, seemed
as full of jollity as if Comus and his crew were holding their revels
in one of its usually lonesome glades.
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