The Singing Mouse Stories

Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
Cover of the book The Singing Mouse Stories by Emerson Hough, Library of Alexandria
View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart
Author: Emerson Hough ISBN: 9781465611857
Publisher: Library of Alexandria Publication: March 8, 2015
Imprint: Language: English
Author: Emerson Hough
ISBN: 9781465611857
Publisher: Library of Alexandria
Publication: March 8, 2015
Imprint:
Language: English
Back again, now, by some impulse of the dog which hasn’t had any day. It is winter now, I remember, Singing Mouse, and I am walking by the shore of the great Inland Seas. There is snow on the ground. The trees look black in contrast as you gaze up from the beach against the high bank. It is cold. It is dark. There is a shiver in the air. There are icicles in the sky. Something is flying through the trees, but silent as if it came out of a grave. I have been walking, I know. I have walked a million miles, and I’m tired. My legs are stiff, and my legging has frozen fast to my overshoe; I remember that. And so I sit down—right here, you know—and look out over the lake—just over there, you see. The ice reaches out from the shore into the lake a long way; and it is covered with snow, and looks white. I can follow that white glimmer in a long, long curve to the right—twenty miles or more, maybe. Yes, it is cold. But ah! what is that out there, and what is it doing? It is setting all the long white curves of ice afire. It is throwing down hammered silver in a broad path, out there on the water. Those are not ripples. That is silver! There will be angels walking on that pathway before long! That is not the moon coming up over the lake! It is the swinging open, by some careless angel’s mischance, of the door of the White City of Rest!... How old, how sore a man climbed up the steep bank! There were white fields. In the distance a dog barked. Away across the fields a bright and cheery light shone out from a window, and as the moon rose higher, it showed the house which held the light. It was not a large house, but it seemed to be a home. Home!—what is that? I wondered; and I remember that I pulled at the frozen legging, and moved, with pain, the limbs grown tired and sore.
View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart
Back again, now, by some impulse of the dog which hasn’t had any day. It is winter now, I remember, Singing Mouse, and I am walking by the shore of the great Inland Seas. There is snow on the ground. The trees look black in contrast as you gaze up from the beach against the high bank. It is cold. It is dark. There is a shiver in the air. There are icicles in the sky. Something is flying through the trees, but silent as if it came out of a grave. I have been walking, I know. I have walked a million miles, and I’m tired. My legs are stiff, and my legging has frozen fast to my overshoe; I remember that. And so I sit down—right here, you know—and look out over the lake—just over there, you see. The ice reaches out from the shore into the lake a long way; and it is covered with snow, and looks white. I can follow that white glimmer in a long, long curve to the right—twenty miles or more, maybe. Yes, it is cold. But ah! what is that out there, and what is it doing? It is setting all the long white curves of ice afire. It is throwing down hammered silver in a broad path, out there on the water. Those are not ripples. That is silver! There will be angels walking on that pathway before long! That is not the moon coming up over the lake! It is the swinging open, by some careless angel’s mischance, of the door of the White City of Rest!... How old, how sore a man climbed up the steep bank! There were white fields. In the distance a dog barked. Away across the fields a bright and cheery light shone out from a window, and as the moon rose higher, it showed the house which held the light. It was not a large house, but it seemed to be a home. Home!—what is that? I wondered; and I remember that I pulled at the frozen legging, and moved, with pain, the limbs grown tired and sore.

More books from Library of Alexandria

Cover of the book Plum Punch: The Life of Writers by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book British Castles by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book Memoirs of a Coxcomb by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book Christianity and Progress by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book Lives of the Engineers: The Locomotive George and Robert Stephenson by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book North of 36 by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book Legends of Longdendale: Being a Series of Tales Founded upon the Folk-lore of Longdendale Valley and its Neighbourhood by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book Intermediate Types Among Primitive Folk: A Study in Social Evolution by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book Theatrical and Circus Life: Secrets of the Stage, Green-Room and Sawdust Arena by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book Introducing the American Spirit by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book Woman's Life in Colonial Days by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book Chinese Diamonds for the King of Kings by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book Introductory Dissertation by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book The Gold Hunters A Story of Life and Adventure in The Hudson Bay Wilds by Emerson Hough
Cover of the book A Dream by Emerson Hough
We use our own "cookies" and third party cookies to improve services and to see statistical information. By using this website, you agree to our Privacy Policy