Todays story is called "The White Heron." It was written by Sarah Orne Jewett. Here is Kay Gallant with the story.
The
forest was full of shadows as a little girl hurried through it one
summer evening in June. It was already eight oclock and Sylvie wondered
if her grandmother would be angry with her for being so late.
Every
evening Sylvie left her grandmothers house at five-thirty to bring
their cow home. The old animal spent her days out in the open country
eating sweet grass. It was Sylvies job to bring her home to be milked.
When the cow heard Sylvies voice calling her, she would hide among the
bushes.
This evening it had taken Sylvie longer than usual to find
her cow. The child hurried the cow through the dark forest, following a
narrow path that led to her grandmothers home. The cow stopped at a
small stream to drink. As Sylvie waited, she put her bare feet in the
cold, fresh water of the stream.
She had never before been alone
in the forest as late as this. The air was soft and sweet. Sylvie felt
as if she were a part of the gray shadows and the silver leaves that
moved in the evening breeze.
She began thinking how it was only a
year ago that she came to her grandmothers farm. Before that, she had
lived with her mother and father in a dirty, crowded factory town. One
day, Sylvies grandmother had visited them and had chosen Sylvie from all
her brothers and sisters to be the one to help her on her farm in
Vermont.
The cow finished drinking, and as the nine-year-old child
hurried through the forest to the home she loved, she thought again
about the noisy town where her parents still lived.
Suddenly the
air was cut by a sharp whistle not far away. Sylvie knew it wasnt a
friendly birds whistle. It was the determined whistle of a person. She
forgot the cow and hid in some bushes. But she was too late.
"Hello,
little girl," a young man called out cheerfully. "How far is it to the
main road?" Sylvie was trembling as she whispered "two miles." She came
out of the bushes and looked up into the face of a tall young man
carrying a gun.
The stranger began walking with Sylvie as she
followed her cow through the forest. "Ive been hunting for birds," he
explained, "but Ive lost my way. Do you think I can spend the night at
your house?" Sylvie didnt answer. She was glad they were almost home.
She could see her grandmother standing near the door of the farm house.
When they reached her, the stranger put down his gun and explained his problem to Sylvies smiling grandmother.
"Of
course you can stay with us," she said. "We dont have much, but youre
welcome to share what we have. Now Sylvie, get a plate for the
gentleman!"
After eating, they all sat outside. The young man
explained he was a scientist, who collected birds. "Do you put them in a
cage?" Sylvie asked. "No," he answered slowly, "I shoot them and stuff
them with special chemicals to preserve them. I have over one hundred
different kinds of birds from all over the United States in my study at
home."
"Sylvie knows a lot about birds, too," her grandmother said
proudly. "She knows the forest so well, the wild animals come and eat
bread right out of her hands."
"So Sylvie knows all about birds.
Maybe she can help me then," the young man said. "I saw a white heron
not far from here two days ago. Ive been looking for it ever since. Its a
very rare bird, the little white heron. Have you seen it, too?" He
asked Sylvie. But Sylvie was silent. "You would know it if you saw it,"
he added. "Its a tall, strange bird with soft white feathers and long
thin legs. It probably has its nest at the top of a tall tree."
Sylvies
heart began to beat fast. She knew that strange white bird! She had
seen it on the other side of the forest. The young man was staring at
Sylvie. "I would give ten dollars to the person who showed me where the
white heron is."
That night Sylvies dreams were full of all the wonderful things she and her grandmother could buy for ten dollars.
Sylvie
spent the next day in the forest with the young man. He told her a lot
about the birds they saw. Sylvie would have had a much better time if
the young man had left his gun at home. She could not understand why he
killed the birds he seemed to like so much. She felt her heart tremble
every time he shot an unsuspecting bird as it was singing in the trees.
But
Sylvie watched the young man with eyes full of admiration. She had
never seen anyone so handsome and charming. A strange excitement filled
her heart, a new feeling the little girl did not recognize…love.
At
last evening came. They drove the cow home together. Long after the
moon came out and the young man had fallen asleep Sylvie was still
awake. She had a plan that would get the ten dollars for her grandmother
and make the young man happy. When it was almost time for the sun to
rise, she quietly left her house and hurried through the forest. She
finally reached a huge pine tree, so tall it could be seen for many
miles around. Her plan was to climb to the top of the pine tree. She
could see the whole forest from there. She was sure she would be able to
see where the white heron had hidden its nest.
Syvlies bare feet
and tiny fingers grabbed the trees rough trunk. Sharp dry branches
scratched at her like cats claws. The pine trees sticky sap made her
fingers feel stiff and clumsy as she climbed higher and higher.
The
pine tree seemed to grow taller, the higher that Sylvie climbed. The
sky began to brighten in the east. Sylvies face was like a pale star
when, at last, she reached the trees highest branch. The golden suns
rays hit the green forest. Two hawks flew together in slow-moving
circles far below Sylvie. Sylvie felt as if she could go flying among
the clouds, too. To the west she could see other farms and forests.
Suddenly
Sylvies dark gray eyes caught a flash of white that grew larger and
larger. A bird with broad white wings and a long slender neck flew past
Sylvie and landed on a pine branch below her. The white heron smoothed
its feathers and called to its mate, sitting on their nest in a nearby
tree. Then it lifted its wings and flew away.
Sylvie gave a long
sigh. She knew the wild birds secret now. Slowly she began her dangerous
trip down the ancient pine tree. She did not dare to look down and
tried to forget that her fingers hurt and her feet were bleeding. All
she wanted to think about was what the stranger would say to her when
she told him where to find the herons nest.
As Sylvie climbed
slowly down the pine tree, the stranger was waking up back at the farm.
He was smiling because he was sure from the way the shy little girl had
looked at him that she had seen the white heron.
About an hour
later Sylvie appeared. Both her grandmother and the young man stood up
as she came into the kitchen. The splendid moment to speak about her
secret had come. But Sylvie was silent. Her grandmother was angry with
her. Where had she been. The young mans kind eyes looked deeply into
Sylvies own dark gray ones. He could give Sylvie and her grandmother ten
dollars. He had promised to do this, and they needed the money.
Besides, Sylvie wanted to make him happy.
But Sylvie was silent.
She remembered how the white heron came flying through the golden air
and how they watched the sun rise together from the top of the world.
Sylvie could not speak. She could not tell the herons secret and give
its life away.
The young man went away disappointed later that
day. Sylvie was sad. She wanted to be his friend. He never returned. But
many nights Sylvie heard the sound of his whistle as she came home with
her grandmothers cow.
Were the birds better friends than their hunter might have been? Who can know?
You
have been listening to the story called "The White Heron" written by
Sarah Orne Jewett. It was adapted for Special English by Dona de
Sanctis. Your narrator was Kay Gallant. Listen again next week at the
same time for this Special English program of American stories. This is
Shep ONeal.