Читать книгу Goose Creek Folks. A Story of the Kentucky Mountains онлайн

13 страница из 46

“Diff’runt, how?”

“Well, I’ll show you. Just begin some song and don’t get off the tune no matter what I sing.”

“I ain’t never got off the tune yit,” reproved Gincy. She began in a clear, sweet voice “The Turkish Lady,” an old English ballad (one of many preserved for generations among the mountaineers). It ran thus:

“Lord Bateman was in England born,

He thought himself of a high degree;

He could not rest or be contented

Until he had voyaged across the sea.”

Talitha joined Gincy in a mellow alto, and together the two sang verse after verse. The spinning wheel ceased to turn while the spinner listened to this new blending of voices, for the mountain people only sang the air. At the edge of the slope Sam Coyle heard it in amazement. The old ballad was familiar enough, but it had never sounded so beautiful.

Gincy showed no surprise at the innovation. Her hands clasped in her lap she looked with large, dreamy eyes off to the green-topped hills lying peacefully against the shining sky. The echoes crept out of the silences and chanted the words softly over and over again.