The White Heron

Announcer: Now, the Special English program, American stories.

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Today'sstory is called "The White Heron."  It was written by Sarah OrneJewett. Here is Kay Gallant with the story.

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Storyteller:The forest was full of shadows as a little girl hurried through it one summerevening in June. It was already eight o'clock and Sylvie wondered if hergrandmother would be angry with her for being so late.

Everyevening Sylvie left her grandmother's house at five-thirty to bring their cowhome. The old animal spent her days out in the open country eating sweet grass.It was Sylvie's job to bring her home to be milked. When the cow heard Sylvie'svoice calling her, she would hide among the bushes.

Thisevening it had taken Sylvie longer than usual to find her cow. The childhurried the cow through the dark forest, following a narrow path that led toher grandmother's home. The cow stopped at a small stream to drink. As Sylviewaited, she put her bare feet in the cold, fresh water of the stream.

Shehad never before been alone in the forest as late as this. The air was soft andsweet. Sylvie felt as if she were a part of the gray shadows and the silverleaves that moved in the evening breeze.

Shebegan thinking how it was only a year ago that she came to her grandmother'sfarm. Before that, she had lived with her mother and father in a dirty, crowdedfactory town. One day, Sylvie's grandmother had visited them and had chosenSylvie from all her brothers and sisters to be the one to help her on her farmin Vermont.

Thecow finished drinking, and as the nine-year-old child hurried through theforest to the home she loved, she thought again about the noisy town where herparents still lived.

Suddenlythe air was cut by a sharp whistle not far away. Sylvie knew it wasn't afriendly bird's whistle. It was the determined whistle of a person. She forgotthe cow and hid in some bushes. But she was too late.

"Hello,little girl," a young man called out cheerfully. "How far is it tothe main road?"  Sylvie was trembling as she whispered "twomiles." She came out of the bushes and looked up into the face of a tallyoung man carrying a gun.

Thestranger began walking with Sylvie as she followed her cow through the forest."I've been hunting for birds," he explained, "but I've lost myway. Do you think I can spend the night at your house?" Sylvie didn'tanswer. She was glad they were almost home. She could see her grandmotherstanding near the door of the farm house.

Whenthey reached her, the stranger put down his gun and explained his problem toSylvie's smiling grandmother.

"Ofcourse you can stay with us," she said. "We don't have much, butyou're welcome to share what we have. Now Sylvie, get a plate for thegentleman!"

Aftereating, they all sat outside. The young man explained he was a scientist, whocollected birds. "Do you put them in a cage?" Sylvie asked."No," he answered slowly,  "I shoot them and stuff themwith special chemicals to preserve them. I have over one hundred different kindsof birds from all over the United States in my study at home."

"Sylvieknows a lot about birds, too," her grandmother said proudly. "Sheknows the forest so well, the wild animals come and eat bread right out of herhands."

"SoSylvie knows all about birds. Maybe she can help me then," the young mansaid. "I saw a white heron not far from here two days ago. I've beenlooking for it ever since. It's a very rare bird, the little white heron. Haveyou seen it, too?" He asked Sylvie.  But Sylvie was silent. "Youwould know it if you saw it," he added. "It's a tall, strange birdwith soft white feathers and long thin legs. It probably has its nest at thetop of a tall tree."

Sylvie'sheart began to beat fast. She knew that strange white bird! She had seen it onthe other side of the forest. The young man was staring at Sylvie. "Iwould give ten dollars to the person who showed me where the white heronis."

Thatnight Sylvie's dreams were full of all the wonderful things she and hergrandmother could buy for ten dollars.

Sylviespent the next day in the forest with the young man. He told her a lot aboutthe birds they saw. Sylvie would have had a much better time if the young manhad left his gun at home. She could not understand why he killed the birds heseemed to like so much. She felt her heart tremble every time he shot anunsuspecting bird as it was singing in the trees.

ButSylvie watched the young man with eyes full of admiration. She had never seenanyone so handsome and charming. A strange excitement filled her heart, a newfeeling the little girl did not recognize…love.

Atlast evening came. They drove the cow home together.  Long after the mooncame out and the young man had fallen asleep Sylvie was still awake. She had aplan that would get the ten dollars for her grandmother and make the young manhappy. When it was almost time for the sun to rise, she quietly left her houseand hurried through the forest. She finally reached a huge pine tree, so tallit could be seen for many miles around. Her plan was to climb to the top of thepine tree. She could see the whole forest from there. She was sure she would beable to see where the white heron had hidden its nest.

Syvlie'sbare feet and tiny fingers grabbed the tree's rough trunk. Sharp dry branchesscratched at her like cat's claws. The pine tree's sticky sap made her fingersfeel stiff and clumsy as she climbed higher and higher.

Thepine tree seemed to grow taller, the higher that Sylvie climbed. The sky beganto brighten in the east. Sylvie's face was like a pale star when, at last, shereached the tree's highest branch. The golden sun's rays hit the green forest.Two hawks flew together in slow-moving circles far below Sylvie. Sylvie felt asif she could go flying among the clouds, too. To the west she could see otherfarms and forests.

SuddenlySylvie's dark gray eyes caught a flash of white that grew larger and larger. Abird with broad white wings and a long slender neck flew past Sylvie and landedon a pine branch below her. The white heron smoothed its feathers and called toits mate, sitting on their nest in a nearby tree. Then it lifted its wings andflew away.

Sylviegave a long sigh. She knew the wild bird's secret now. Slowly she began herdangerous trip down the ancient pine tree. She did not dare to look down andtried to forget that her fingers hurt and her feet were bleeding. All shewanted to think about was what the stranger would say to her when she told himwhere to find the heron's nest.

AsSylvie climbed slowly down the pine tree, the stranger was waking up back atthe farm. He was smiling because he was sure from the way the shy little girlhad looked at him that she had seen the white heron.

Aboutan hour later Sylvie appeared. Both her grandmother and the young man stood upas she came into the kitchen. The splendid moment to speak about her secret hadcome. But Sylvie was silent. Her grandmother was angry with her. Where had shebeen. The young man's kind eyes looked deeply into Sylvie's own dark gray ones.He could give Sylvie and her grandmother ten dollars. He had promised to dothis, and they needed the money. Besides, Sylvie wanted to make him happy.

ButSylvie was silent. She remembered how the white heron came flying through thegolden air and how they watched the sun rise together from the top of theworld. Sylvie could not speak. She could not tell the heron's secret and giveits life away.

Theyoung man went away disappointed later that day. Sylvie was sad. She wanted tobe his friend. He never returned. But many nights Sylvie heard the sound of hiswhistle as she came home with her grandmother's cow.

Werethe birds better friends than their hunter might have been? Who can know?

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ANNOUNCER: You have been listening to the story called "The White Heron" writtenby Sarah Orne Jewett. It was adapted for Special English by Dona de Sanctis.Your narrator was Kay Gallant. Listen again next week at the sametime for this Special English program of American stories. This is Shep O'Neal.