Up and down the hill went Ephraim Thayer, having the one playtime of
his life, speeding on his brother's famous sled against bondage and
deprivation and death. It was after midnight when he went home; all
the village lights were out; the white road stretched before him, as
still and deserted as a road through solitude itself. Ephraim had
never been out-of-doors so late before, he had never been so alone in
his life, but he was not afraid. He was not afraid of anything in the
lonely night, and he was not afraid of his mother at home. He thought
to himself exultantly that Ezra Ray had been no more courageous than
he, although, to be sure, he had not a whipping to fear like Ezra.
His heart was full of joyful triumph that he was not wholly guilty,
since it was the outcome of an innocent desire.
As he walked along he tipped up his face and stared with his stupid
boyish eyes at the stars paling in the full moonlight, and the great
moon herself overriding the clouds and the stars. It made him think
of the catechism and the Commandments, and then a little pang of
terror shot through him, but even that did not daunt him. He did not
look up at the stars again, but bent his head and trudged on, with
the sled-rope pulling at his weak chest.
When he reached his own yard he stepped as carefully as he could;
still he was not afraid.
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