You might have
become a tea-king, Tim, and measure your fortune in millions. I might
have turned lawyer instead of soldier; I might have made a great name
for myself in Congress by long speeches full of dry facts and figures,
or short ones puffed up with pompous phrases. The fact that Six Stars
existed might have gone beyond our valley because here you and I were
born, and for a time we honored the place with our presence. Suppose
all that had been, and you the tea-king and I the great lawyer sat here
together as we sit now, smoking, could you add one note to the evening
peace; would the night-hawk pay us homage by a single added ring as he
circles among the clouds; would the bull-frogs in the creek sing louder
to our glory; would the bleating of the sheep swing in sweeter to the
music of the valley? And look at God's fireplace, I cry, pointing to
the west, where the sun is heaping the glowing cloud coals among the
mountains. God's fireplace? says Tim, with a queer look in his eyes.
Yes, say I, and the valley is the hearthstone.
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