THE HISTORY OF GUTTA PERCHA WILLIE, THE WORKING GENIUS by George MacDonald

Author:George MacDonald [MacDonald, George]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Anthologies
Publisher: Delphi Classics
Published: 2015-01-17T13:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XI.

SOME OF THE SIGHTS WILLIE SAW.

I fancy some of my readers would like to hear what were some of the scenes Willie saw on such occasions. The little mill went on night after night — almost everynight in the summer, and those nights in the winter when the frost wasn’t so hard that it would have frozen up the machinery. But to attempt to describe the variety of the pictures Willie saw would be an endless labour.

Sometimes, when he looked out, it was a simple, quiet, thoughtful night that met his gaze, without any moon, but as full of stars as it could hold, all flashing and trembling through the dew that was slowly sinking down the air to settle upon the earth and its thousand living things below. On such a night Willie never went to bed again without wishing to be pure in heart, that he might one day see the God whose thought had taken the shape of such a lovely night. For although he could not have expressed himself thus at that time, he felt that it must be God’s thinking that put it all there.

Other times, the stars would be half blotted out — all over the heavens — not with mist, but with the light of the moon. Oh, how lovely she was! — so calm! so all alone in the midst of the great blue ocean! the sun of the night! She seemed to hold up the tent of the heavens in a great silver knot. And, like the stars above, all the flowers below had lost their colour and looked pale and wan, sweet and sad. It was just like what the schoolmaster had been telling him about the Elysium of the Greek and Latin poets, to which they fancied the good people went when they died — not half so glad and bright and busy as the daylight world which they had left behind them, and to which they always wanted to go back that they might eat and drink and be merry again — but oh, so tender and lovely in its mournfulness!

Several times in winter, looking out, he saw a strange sight — the air so full of great snowflakes that he could not see the moon through them, although her light was visible all about them. They came floating slowly down through the dusky light, just as if they had been a precipitate from that solution of moonbeams. He could hardly persuade himself to go to bed, so fascinating was the sight; but the cold would drive him to his nest again.

Once the wheel-watchman pulled him up in the midst of a terrible thunder-storm — when the East and the West were answering each other with alternate flashes of forked lightning that seemed to split the black clouds with cracks of blinding blue, awful in their blasting silence — followed by great, billowy, shattering rolls of thunder, as loud as if the sky had been a huge

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