A White Heron

Sylvia was nine years old, and for a year now she had lived with her grandmother on a small farm deep in the woods.Before that she had lived in a crowded factory town, and she still could hardly believe her luck at being here, among the trees and the quiet.Every evening it was her task to bring the old cow home, and she was never in a hurry, for the woods themselves were company enough.

One evening a young man stepped out of the trees, carrying a gun. He was friendly, but Sylvia was frightened, for men with guns had always seemed rough to her.He was a hunter of birds, he explained; he shot them, and kept them, and knew all their names.Sylvia’s grandmother gave him a bed for the night and talked freely about the farm and the birds nearby.

There was one bird, the young man said, that he wanted above all others: a white heron he had seen near the salt marsh two summers before.He would give ten dollars, he said, to anyone who could show him where it made its nest.Ten dollars was a fortune. Sylvia thought of all it could buy, and she said nothing, but she knew the bird.She had seen it once, a tall white shape rising from the dark green reeds, and she thought she knew the very tree it flew home to.

Before the sun was up the next morning, Sylvia slipped out of the house alone.At the edge of the woods stood a great pine, the tallest tree for miles, and she meant to climb it and look out over the whole country.The climb was long and dangerous; the rough bark tore her hands, and the branches grew thin and swayed under her.

But at last she reached the top, and the world opened out below her — miles of green woods, and far off, the sea turning gold in the sunrise.Then she saw it: the white heron, flying up from a dead tree below her, floating past on wide wings, and settling on a branch to call to its mate.Now she knew. She had the secret, and she could give it to the hunter, and he would be glad, and the ten dollars would be hers.

But when she came home, and her grandmother scolded her, and the young man looked at her with his kind, hopeful eyes, Sylvia stood silent and would not speak.She could not tell. The heron had shown her the golden light and the sea, and she would keep its life a secret, though the woods might be lonelier for the friend she had let go.