She had a plan that would get the ten dollars for her grandmother and make the young man happy. Long after the moon came out and the young man had fallen asleep Sylvie was still awake. A strange excitement filled her heart, a new feeling the little girl did not recognize…love.Īt last evening came.
She had never seen anyone so handsome and charming.
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She felt her heart tremble every time he shot an unsuspecting bird as it was singing in the trees.īut Sylvie watched the young man with eyes full of admiration. She could not understand why he killed the birds he seemed to like so much. Sylvie would have had a much better time if the young man had left his gun at home. He told her a lot about the birds they saw. Sylvie spent the next day in the forest with the young man. That night Sylvies dreams were full of all the wonderful things she and her grandmother could buy for ten dollars. "I would give ten dollars to the person who showed me where the white heron is." She knew that strange white bird! She had seen it on the other side of the forest. It probably has its nest at the top of a tall tree." "Its a tall, strange bird with soft white feathers and long thin legs. "You would know it if you saw it," he added. Its a very rare bird, the little white heron. "I saw a white heron not far from here two days ago. Maybe she can help me then," the young man said. "She knows the forest so well, the wild animals come and eat bread right out of her hands." "Sylvie knows a lot about birds, too," her grandmother said proudly. I have over one hundred different kinds of birds from all over the United States in my study at home." "No," he answered slowly, "I shoot them and stuff them with special chemicals to preserve them. "Do you put them in a cage?" Sylvie asked. The young man explained he was a scientist, who collected birds. Now Sylvie, get a plate for the gentleman!"Īfter eating, they all sat outside. "We dont have much, but youre welcome to share what we have. "Of course you can stay with us," she said. When they reached her, the stranger put down his gun and explained his problem to Sylvies smiling grandmother. She could see her grandmother standing near the door of the farm house. Do you think I can spend the night at your house?" Sylvie didnt answer. "Ive been hunting for birds," he explained, "but Ive lost my way. The stranger began walking with Sylvie as she followed her cow through the forest. "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. "Hello, little girl," a young man called out cheerfully. She forgot the cow and hid in some bushes. It was the determined whistle of a person. Sylvie knew it wasnt a friendly birds whistle. Suddenly the air was cut by a sharp whistle not far away.
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. 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. Before that, she had lived with her mother and father in a dirty, crowded factory town. She began thinking how it was only a year ago that she came to her grandmothers farm. Sylvie felt as if she were a part of the gray shadows and the silver leaves that moved in the evening breeze. She had never before been alone in the forest as late as this. As Sylvie waited, she put her bare feet in the cold, fresh water of the stream. The cow stopped at a small stream to drink. The child hurried the cow through the dark forest, following a narrow path that led to her grandmothers home. This evening it had taken Sylvie longer than usual to find her cow. When the cow heard Sylvies voice calling her, she would hide among the bushes. It was Sylvies job to bring her home to be milked. The old animal spent her days out in the open country eating sweet grass. It was already eight oclock and Sylvie wondered if her grandmother would be angry with her for being so late.Įvery evening Sylvie left her grandmothers house at five-thirty to bring their cow home. The forest was full of shadows as a little girl hurried through it one summer evening in June. Todays story is called "The White Heron." It was written by Sarah Orne Jewett.
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