The time seemed short indeed, and I could not
for a moment have imagined that it was even noon, when we reached the
barrack.
This was a hut of rude, unplaned boards, which had been put up formerly
with the intent of furnishing a permanent abode for some laboring men,
but which, having been long deserted, was now used only as a temporary
shelter by charcoal burners, haymakers, or like ourselves, stray
sportsmen. It was, however, though rudely built, and fallen considerably
into decay, perfectly beautiful from its romantic site; for it stood
just at the end of a long tangled covert, with a huge pin oak-tree,
leaning abruptly out from an almost precipitous bank of yellow sand,
completely canopying it; while from a crevice in the sand-stone there
welled out a little source of crystal water, which expanded into as
sweet a basin as ever served a Dryad for her bath in Arcady, of old.
Before it stretched the wide sweep of meadow land, with the broad blue
Wallkill gliding through it, fringed by a skirt of coppice, and the high
mountains, veiled with a soft autumnal mist, sleeping beyond, robed in
their many-colored garb of crimson, gold, and green. Besides the spring
the indefatigable Tim had kindled a bright glancing fire, while in the
basin were cooling two long-necked bottles of the Baron's best; a clean
white cloth was spread in the shade before the barrack door, with plates
and cups, and bread cut duly, and a traveling case of cruets, with all
the other appurtenances needful.
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