I had expected to see the town; and it was part of the town no
doubt that stretched away before me, but it had rather the
beauty of the country. There was nothing regular in streets or
buildings, nor compact; the houses scattered away down the
hill, standing here and there, alone and in groups, with
fields or pieces of fields intermingling. Pretty houses, with
quaint dormer windows and high sloping roofs. We were on a
height, I found, from which the eye went down delightfully
over this bit of the rambling old town. A courtyard, with
grass and young trees, was the first thing next the house on
this side; which I found was not the front; then the ground
fell sharply, and most of the houses stood upon a level below
bordering the lake. A stretch of the lake lay there, smooth,
still, bearing the reflection of some houses on its opposite
edge; where softened under a misty atmosphere another little
town seemed to rest on a rising bank. And then, just behind
it, rose the mountain, looking down upon lake and towns as if
to forbid a thought of foolishness in any one who should ever
live there. So, in its beautiful gravity, Mont Pilatte seemed
to me, then and always. Are not mountains always witnesses for
God? This first time I saw it, a misty cloud had swept across
the breast of the mountain and hid part of the outline; but
the head lifted itself in sunlight just above the veiling
cloud, and looked down in unspeakable majesty upon the lower
world. Always my eyes went back to that wonderful mountain
head; then fell to the placid lake and the little town
sleeping in misty sunlight on its further border; then caught
the sharp pointed towers of a church or cathedral close by at
my left hand, just within my picture; I could not see the
whole church; then back to the soft veiled mountain. A more
picturesque combination never went into a view. I sat still in
a trance of pleasure, only my eyes moving slowly from point to
point, and my heart and soul listening to the hidden melodies
which in nature's great halls are always sounding. I do
believe, for the matter of that, they are always sounding in
nature's least chambers as well; but there is the tinkle of a
silver bell, and there is the thunder of the great organ. At
any rate I was quieted, comforted, soothed, and entirely
myself again, by the time I had listened to Mont Pilatte for a
couple of hours.
The day wore on, and the lights changed, and the cloud
deepened on the mountain. The lights had not begun to fade
yet, though it was the time of long shadows, when a little
bustle below and steps on the stairs drew me away from the
window and brought me to my feet; but I stood still. The first
one was mamma, and her first word of course broke the spell
under which I had been standing and brought me into her arms.
And that word I pondered many a time afterwards. It was
simply, "Why, Daisy!" - but the letters put together tell
nothing of what was in the expression. Pleasure and affection
there were, of course; and there was something beside, which I
could not help thinking gave token of gratified surprise. What
should have excited it I do not know, unless it were that my
appearance pleased her better than she had expected. It was
not surprise at my being there, for the servants had told of
that. My father, who was next, said exactly the same words;
but his "Why, Daisy!" had an altogether different expression.
I flung myself into his arms, and then almost broke my heart
with the thought that I had been so long out of them. My
father pressed me very close, and kept very still. I felt my
mother touch me on the shoulder, and heard her tell me not to
be so excited; but I could not mind her. And papa, sitting
down, kept me in his arms and held me fast and kissed me, and
I sobbed myself into content.