The scaffold steps. I am going up the scaffold
steps." From the top of the ladder he got upon a branch, and, putting
his arms about the stem, began to climb. "Yes," he said to himself,
"my gallows tree. I am going up the gallows tree. This is my gallows
tree;" and he climbed nimbly and firmly.
The green leaves were all round him, a green tent with pretty
loopholes through which he could take peeps at the home that was on
the point of vanishing forever from his eyes. He paused on a level
with the broad eaves, and looked through between branches at a window
on the first floor landing. The casements stood wide open; the square
of glass glittered; the muslin curtains just stirred, trembled
whitely. Far down below his feet were the flagged pathway, the wooden
bench, and three shining milk-pans.
He climbed higher; and it seemed to him that from the moment he left
the ground till now he had been like a drowsy man shaking off his
sloth, like a drugged man recovering consciousness, like a man who was
supposed to be dead rapidly coming to life again. With every inch
added to the height from the ground, he felt stronger, more active,
fuller of nervous and muscular energy. His fingers gripped each branch
as firmly as if they had been iron clamps; his feet, encumbered by
the stout boots, seemed to catch hold and cling to the slightest
irregularities of the smooth bark as skilfully and tenaciously as if
they had been the prehensile paws of a cat; not a touch of vertigo
troubled him; he felt as fearless and splendidly alive as when he
climbed tall trees for buzzards' eggs thirty-three years ago.
Pages:
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500