'And how did you lose your breastpin?' I said, coming back to the original subject.
'Samuel found I had it, and threw it away soon after we came to the Flats; he said it was vanity.'
'O yes, years. I hope we shall stay here always now,--at least, I mean until the thousand years of joy begin,--for it's quiet, and Samuel's more easy here than in any other place. I've got used to the lonely feeling, and don't mind it much now. There's no one near us for miles, Rosabel Lee and Liakim; they don't come here, for Samuel can't abide 'em, but sometimes I stop there on my way over from the mainland, and have a little chat about the children. Rosabel Lee has got lovely children, she has! They don't stay there in the winter, though; the winters _are_ long, I don't deny it.'
'Well, I knit and cook, and Samuel reads to me, and has a great many visions.'
'Yes, all kinds; he's a great reader, and he has boxes of books about the spirits, and such things.'
'Nine of the night. Take thou thy rest. I will lay me down in peace and sleep, for it is thou, Lord, that makest me dwell in safety,' chanted the voice in the hall; and our evening was over.
At dawn we attended the service on the roof; then, after breakfast, we released Captain Kidd, and started out for another day's sport. We had not rowed far when Roxana passed us, poling her flat-boat rapidly along; she had a load of fish and butter, and was bound for the mainland village. 'Bring us back a Detroit paper,' I said. She nodded and passed on, stolid and homely in the morning light. Yes, I was obliged to confess to myself that she _was_ commonplace.
A glorious day we had on the moors in the rushing September wind. Everything rustled and waved and danced, and the grass undulated in long billows as far as the eye could see. The wind enjoyed himself like mad; he had no forests to oppose him, no heavy water to roll up,--nothing but merry, swaying grasses. It was the west wind,--'of all the winds, the best wind.' The east wind was given us for our sins; I have long suspected that the east wind was the angel that drove Adam out of Paradise. We did nothing that day,--nothing but enjoy the rushing breeze. We felt like Bedouins of the desert, with our boat for a steed. 'He came flying upon the wings of the wind,' is the grandest image of the Hebrew poet.