part 4-第3部分

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in　the　sunny　pool　behind　the　screen　of　cottonwoods；　she



sometimes　felt　as　if　the　water　must　have　sovereign　quali…



ties；　from　having　been　the　object　of　so　much　service　and



desire。　　That　stream　was　the　only　living　thing　left　of　the



drama　that　had　been　played　out　in　the　canyon　centuries



ago。　　In　the　rapid；　restless　heart　of　it；　flowing　swifter　than



the　rest；　there　was　a　continuity　of　life　that　reached　back



into　the　old　time。　　The　glittering　thread　of　current　had　a



kind　of　lightly　worn；　loosely　knit　personality；　graceful　and



laughing。　　Thea's　bath　came　to　have　a　ceremonial　gravity。



The　atmosphere　of　the　canyon　was　ritualistic。







　　　　　One　morning；　as　she　was　standing　upright　in　the　pool；



splashing　water　between　her　shoulder…blades　with　a　big



sponge；　something　flashed　through　her　mind　that　made　her



draw　herself　up　and　stand　still　until　the　water　had　quite



dried　upon　her　flushed　skin。　　The　stream　and　the　broken



pottery：　what　was　any　art　but　an　effort　to　make　a



sheath；　a　mould　in　which　to　imprison　for　a　moment　the



shining；　elusive　element　which　is　life　itself；life　hurrying



past　us　and　running　away；　too　strong　to　stop；　too　sweet　to



lose？　　The　Indian　women　had　held　it　in　their　jars。　　In　the



sculpture　she　had　seen　in　the　Art　Institute；　it　had　been



caught　in　a　flash　of　arrested　motion。　　In　singing；　one　made



a　vessel　of　one's　throat　and　nostrils　and　held　it　on　one's



breath；　caught　the　stream　in　a　scale　of　natural　intervals。



























　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　IV











　　　　　THEA　had　a　superstitious　feeling　about　the　potsherds；



and　liked　better　to　leave　them　in　the　dwellings



where　she　found　them。　　If　she　took　a　few　bits　back　to　her



own　lodge　and　hid　them　under　the　blankets；　she　did　it



guiltily；　as　if　she　were　being　watched。　　She　was　a　guest　in



these　houses；　and　ought　to　behave　as　such。　　Nearly　every



afternoon　she　went　to　the　chambers　which　contained　the



most　interesting　fragments　of　pottery；　sat　and　looked　at



them　for　a　while。　　Some　of　them　were　beautifully　deco…



rated。　　This　care；　expended　upon　vessels　that　could　not



hold　food　or　water　any　better　for　the　additional　labor



put　upon　them；　made　her　heart　go　out　to　those　ancient



potters。　　They　had　not　only　expressed　their　desire；　but



they　had　expressed　it　as　beautifully　as　they　could。　　Food；



fire；　water；　and　something　elseeven　here；　in　this　crack



in　the　world；　so　far　back　in　the　night　of　the　past！　　Down



here　at　the　beginning　that　painful　thing　was　already



stirring；　the　seed　of　sorrow；　and　of　so　much　delight。







　　　　　There　were　jars　done　in　a　delicate　overlay；　like　pine



cones；　and　there　were　many　patterns　in　a　low　relief；　like



basket…work。　　Some　of　the　pottery　was　decorated　in



color；　red　and　brown；　black　and　white；　in　graceful　geo…



metrical　patterns。　　One　day；　on　a　fragment　of　a　shallow



bowl；　she　found　a　crested　serpent's　head；　painted　in　red



on　terra…cotta。　　Again　she　found　half　a　bowl　with　a　broad



band　of　white　cliff…houses　painted　on　a　black　ground。



They　were　scarcely　conventionalized　at　all；　there　they



were　in　the　black　border；　just　as　they　stood　in　the　rock



before　her。　　It　brought　her　centuries　nearer　to　these　peo…



ple　to　find　that　they　saw　their　houses　exactly　as　she　saw



them。



















　　　　　Yes；　Ray　Kennedy　was　right。　　All　these　things　made　one



feel　that　one　ought　to　do　one's　best；　and　help　to　fulfill　some



desire　of　the　dust　that　slept　there。　　A　dream　had　been



dreamed　there　long　ago；　in　the　night　of　ages；　and　the　wind



had　whispered　some　promise　to　the　sadness　of　the　savage。



In　their　own　way；　those　people　had　felt　the　beginnings　of



what　was　to　come。　　These　potsherds　were　like　fetters　that



bound　one　to　a　long　chain　of　human　endeavor。







　　　　　Not　only　did　the　world　seem　older　and　richer　to　Thea



now；　but　she　herself　seemed　older。　　She　had　never　been



alone　for　so　long　before；　or　thought　so　much。　　Nothing　had



ever　engrossed　her　so　deeply　as　the　daily　contemplation　of



that　line　of　pale…yellow　houses　tucked　into　the　wrinkle　of　the



cliff。　　Moonstone　and　Chicago　had　become　vague。　　Here



everything　was　simple　and　definite；　as　things　had　been　in



childhood。　　Her　mind　was　like　a　ragbag　into　which　she　had



been　frantically　thrusting　whatever　she　could　grab。　　And



here　she　must　throw　this　lumber　away。　　The　things　that



were　really　hers　separated　themselves　from　the　rest。　　Her



ideas　were　simplified；　became　sharper　and　clearer。　　She　felt



united　and　strong。











　　　　　When　Thea　had　been　at　the　Ottenburg　ranch　for　two



months；　she　got　a　letter　from　Fred　announcing　that　he



〃might　be　along　at　almost　any　time　now。〃　　The　letter



came　at　night；　and　the　next　morning　she　took　it　down



into　the　canyon　with　her。　　She　was　delighted　that　he　was



coming　soon。　　She　had　never　felt　so　grateful　to　any　one；



and　she　wanted　to　tell　him　everything　that　had　happened



to　her　since　she　had　been　theremore　than　had　happened



in　all　her　life　before。　　Certainly　she　liked　Fred　better



than　any　one　else　in　the　world。　　There　was　Harsanyi；　of



coursebut　Harsanyi　was　always　tired。　　Just　now；　and



here；　she　wanted　some　one　who　had　never　been　tired；　who



could　catch　an　idea　and　run　with　it。







　　　　　She　was　ashamed　to　think　what　an　apprehensive　drudge















she　must　always　have　seemed　to　Fred；　and　she　wondered



why　he　had　concerned　himself　about　her　at　all。　　Perhaps



she　would　never　be　so　happy　or　so　good…looking　again；



and　she　would　like　Fred　to　see　her；　for　once；　at　her　best。



She　had　not　been　singing　much；　but　she　knew　that　her



voice　was　more　interesting　than　it　had　ever　been　before。



She　had　begun　to　understand　thatwith　her；　at　least



voice　was；　first　of　all；　vitality；　a　lightness　in　the　body　and



a　driving　power　in　the　blood。　　If　she　had　that；　she　could



sing。　　When　she　felt　so　keenly　alive；　lying　on　that　insensi…



ble　shelf　of　stone；　when　her　body　bounded　like　a　rubber　ball



away　from　its　hardness；　then　she　could　sing。　　This；　too；　she



could　explain　to　Fred。　　He　would　know　what　she　meant。







　　　　　Another　week　passed。　　Thea　did　the　same　things　as



before；　felt　the　same　influences；　went　over　the　same　ideas；



but　there　was　a　livelier　movement　in　her　thoughts；　and　a



freshening　of　sensation；　like　the　brightness　which　came　over



the　underbrush　after　a　shower。　　A　persistent　affirmation



or　denialwas　going　on　in　her；　like　the　tapping　of　the



woodpecker　in　the　one　tall　pine　tree　across　the　chasm。



Musical　phrases　drove　each　other　rapidly　through　her



mind；　and　the　song　of　the　cicada　was　now　too　long　and　too



sharp。　　Everything　seemed　suddenly　to　take　the　form　of　a



desire　for　action。







　　　　　It　was　while　she　was　in　this　abstracted　state；　waiting



for　the　clock　to　strike；　that　Thea　at　last　made　up　her　mind



what　she　was　going　to　try　to　do　in　the　world；　and　that　she



was　going　to　Germany　to　study　without　further　loss　of　time。



Only　by　the　merest　chance　had　she　ever　got　to　Panther



Canyon。　　There　was　certainly　no　kindly　Providence　that



directed　one's　life；　and　one's　parents　did　not　in　the　least



care　what　became　of　one；　so　long　as　one　did　not　misbehave



and　endanger　their　comfort。　　One's　life　was　at　the　mercy　of



blind　chance。　　She　had　better　take　it　in　her　own　hands　and



lose　everything　than　meekly　draw　the　plough　under　the



rod　of　parental　guidance。　　She　had　seen　it　when　she　was　at















home　last　summer；the　hostility　of　comfortable；　self…



satisfied　people　toward　any　serious　effort。　　Even　to　her



father　it　seemed　indecorous。　　Whenever　she　spoke　seriously；



he　looked　apologetic。　　Yet　she　had　clung　fast　to　whatever



was　left　of　Moonstone　in　her　mind。　　No　more　of　that！　　The



Cliff…Dwellers　had　lengthened　her　past。　　She　had　older　and



higher　obligations。



























　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　V











　　　　　ONE　Sunday　afternoon　late　in　July　old　Henry　Biltmer



was　rheumatically　descending　into　the　head　of　the



canyon。　　The　Sunday　before　had　been　one　of　those　cloudy



daysfortunately　rarewhen　the　life　goes　out　of　that



country　and　it　becomes　a　gray　ghost；　an　empty；　shivering



uncertainty。　　Henry　had　spent　the　day　in　the　barn；　his



canyon　was　a　reality　only　when　it　was　flooded　with　the　light



of　its　great　lamp；　when　the　yellow　rocks　cast　purple　shad…



ows；　and　the　resin　was　fairly　cooking　in　th