The following chapter, entitled Mary Ann, is a sample chapter from The Sword of Deneb.
David ran all the way home. When at last he arrived at the corner of the southeast meadow, he collapsed on a haystack. After he had caught his breath, he lifted his new flute and inspected it carefully. It was the most beautiful object he had ever seen. Although it was very old and had been played by many people before him, it seemed to be in perfect condition. It was as shiny as it would have been if John Peter Paul had finished and polished it that very afternoon. It seemed almost as though the ancient Golden Flute had the capablity to repair its own scratches, just as a living organism can heal its own wounds.
"I should not let Uncle Gunther know about this flute," he thought. "He would take it away from me and sell it or else try to discover the secret to its power, a power that even Father Solomon could not comprehend. The same with Cousin Grimhold. He would just tell Uncle Gunther." But what about Cousin Mary Ann? She was an enigma. She never paid much attention to anything or anybody except Temple and her chores.
Then David strained his brain. What did Mary Ann look like anyway? He had been living in the same house with her for months, and yet he could not remember what she looked like. She was plain looking. Most people would call her homely. But why did David not think that she was bad looking? And why could he not remember exactly what she looked like?
That was enough brain straining for one night. David decided to play his flute while he was far from the house, where the lazy Uncle Gunther and Cousin Grimhold never came. And so, leaning against the haystack, and facing toward the full moon, David began to play.
He did not keep track of the time. He must have been playing for about an hour. He had not been thinking about the music, because too many other things were competing for his mind. There was his father. There was his unhappy life under Uncle Gunther's roof. And there was the new Golden Flute that made him long for he knew not what. As he sat on the ground leaning against the haystack, facing south toward a full moon, these melancholy thoughts must have imposed a fantastic emotional dimension upon his music, for sounds such as he made that night had never been heard before.
As David serenaded the moon, he became gradually aware of a beautiful dancing form, silhouetted against the moon on a hill about fifty yards south. Such lovliness of movement he had never witnessed. Indeed he had not thought it possible. The form had a surrealistic appearance such that it seemed to accelerate as it ascended and decelerate as it descended. David's knowledge of physics told him that this could not be so, but nevertheless, so it seemed.
The form was that of a woman or girl wearing a knee-length dress that floated like a mist in the breeze. It was also apparent, though he had to strain to discern it, that she wore no shoes. Whether he knew the dancer he could not tell. She was too far away. He did not approach her because he did not wish to frighten her and drive her away. He did not stop playing his flute, because she seemed to be dancing to the music. Just as he was improvising, so also was she improvising. And so that night, with no audience to witness it, was the only performance of an enchantingly beautiful moonlight ballet.
How long had she been there before David noticed her? He could not say because he usually played with his eyes closed. But, having spotted her, he could not take his eyes off of her until she gradually moved away, finally disappearing behind the hill. At this time, with nothing to lose, he ran quickly toward the hill, climbing it to catch sight of her on the other side. But when he reached the top of the hill and looked down, he saw nothing. Then, looking down at his flute, he wondered, "Did it really happen?"
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Next morning, David was up, early as usual, to do his farm work. Also up early was Cousin Mary Ann to fix breakfast for David and then to do her house work and the other chores that were expected of her. Since Uncle Gunther and Cousin Grimhold would remain in bed for another two hours, she could not fix breakfast for them so early. Otherwise it would not be fresh for them.
As David ate his breakfast, he studied Mary Ann closely. He observed her plain face, her simple dress, her strong peasant limbs, and her bare feet. A homelier peasant girl you could never hope to find. Kind hearted, clean, and industrious, but hopelessly plain.
"Ah, yes," thought David. "That is how she looks. She really is very homely. Although she is my cousin, my very own flesh and blood, I am ashamed to acknowledge how much she differs, from the lovely fairy of my vision last night. Yet why is it that I have never before taken such careful note of her plainness?"
Watching her more thoughtfully, but looking away from her face, he continued to wonder, "Why is it that she does not seem homely? The impression that she gives as she goes about her mundane tasks is one of grace and beauty." As he pulled on his boots and yoked the mule and otherwise prepared for his morning of labor, he watched Cousin Mary Ann as much as he could. It ultimately dawned on him that she was not working as she cooked breakfast and swept the floor and fed the chickens and milked the cow. She was DANCING. Every muscle and bone, from the top of her head to the tips of her fingers to the tips of the toes of her bare feet she marshalled to a concert of perfect unity.