To me, emerging from the wood, the sunlit grove was like something out of Grimm, as if this odd little village had been put under a spell and had been asleep for 100 years. A yellow house in front of me with a blue-latticed front porch could have been waiting for Hansel and Gretel. So quiet the grove was, so still the air, that even the aspen leaves hung limp. Blue and green dragonflies, poised in the air, added to the enchantment. Far off, I could hear the wich-wich-wich of a yellow warbler and a locust' s somnolent buzz. Otherwise silence.
I went up on the porch of a pinktrimmed house and peered through the single window. What I saw was prosaics enough—a room with a couple of chairs, a table, a couch, a kerosene lamp. A ladder led upstairs to a sleeping loft. The grove was a mystery. Why were those little houses there? Why were they empty and yet at the same time cared for? Who owned them? It was eerie to see these miniatures huddled together against all that space. I half expected some guardian to come rushing out and ask me what I was doing there.
I suppose my enchanted village was some sort of camp meeting ground, used a few weeks each summer. I never did find out. On that afternoon I did not linger. The sun' s rays were already slanting, the shadows longer, and my hill still lay ahead of me. Again I plunged into the underbrush. (breaking through at last to a rutted road scored with puddles.) But at the first turning I reached the foot of the hill, my hill, open and placed in the lengthened sunshine. Its thin meadow grass had turned brown, a stone wall that once enclosed the pasture had fallen apart, and velvety mullein leaves were thrusting up between the boulders. Up I went, over a granite ledge and across the meadow, trampling down hardhack and meadowsweet in my hurry to get to the top.
At last, under the sky' s bowl, I stood at the crest breathless, the hill solid, tangible under my feet. So often I had seen it elusive in the distance. Now I was there. Yet even as I reached my goal, it began to slip away from me. Straight ahead, beyond more miles of woodland, I could see another hill, somewhat higher, somewhat longer, cows grazing placidly on its cleared slope a summit hinged with green. Mysterious, full of promise, it was a hill I should never reach. Yet, in my old longing, that was where I wished I might be, on that farther hill. But even as I looked at it. I sensed that beyond there would be another hill, and beyond that yet another, beyond Mt. Battie, beyond Maine, beyond the miles. Even if I kept going round the world there would always be another hill. And I knew then, suddenly and overwhelmirlgly, that one could never reach the last hill.
缅因州北部的秋天景色迷人，当黄昏降临的时候，晴朗的天空飘着的云朵为大地投下片片浓荫，仿佛夏天还没有过去。缅因州位于沃尔多博拉以西十二英里，在十二岁到十四岁的三年时间里，我每年都去那里度假，因为那里有几个以印第安语命名的男童夏令营。然而，我现在已经不愿常常回忆那些久远的往事了。
我站在曾经是棒球场的土丘上，它的右方是一片百年橡树林，我们曾常常在这片树林的附近举办篝火晚会。在酷热的八月，我曾多少次站在这座土丘上，遥望葱郁树林后面的康登山脉！那大片的原野一直伸向地平线轮廓清晰的巴蒂山，中途穿越过小山和树林，好似18世纪时形象鲜明的铜版画。日暮时分，轮廓变得模糊的巴蒂山笼罩在一片蓝色的暮霭之中时，我们就围在老橡树四周举办篝火晚会。
许多年后，棒球场四周较远的地方又长出了许多高矮不等的白杨树、白桦树，还有长着斑点的桤木，这片树林挡住了视野，曾经种在那里的树木早已被砍伐了。在这片透明的天空下，我们现在已经看不见什么，除了那些参差不齐的树冠。巴蒂山已经消失在远方，天空也披上了一层寒冷的色彩。
在酷热的午后，当淡淡的暮色降临时，就会吹起凉爽的微风。在那时，我经常会站在那棵老橡树的旁边，眺望着灌木丛和沼泽另一头的一座小山，那座小山距离此处有几英里的路程。那是一座极其普通的小山，没有什么值得称道的地方。一座废弃的农场坐落在光秃秃的山顶下，野生杜松和露出地面的花岗岩星罗棋布。然而，那座小山具有的一种气息吸引了我，我感到它在几英里外向我挥手。我的视线无法从那座小山移开，我下定决心在夏天逝去之前一定要去那里看一看(穿过牧场，一直向前，绕过灌木丛和花岗岩，直到站在山顶上）。我无法做出解释，甚至也没有听听自己的心声，然而这是我一定要做的事情。
离开营地是一件相当困难的事情。我们从早晨到下午的活动，全部记录在领队老师的笔记本上。按照计划，我们的活动内容是游泳、划船、打网球、打棒球、练习田径、野外远足或者去木工房做一些手工制品。如果毫无缘由地去爬山，什么活动都不参加，那就是有悖于“夏令营精神”的行为。
每逢星期六下午，我们就可以放松一下了，因为这天总会有许多家长和游客来营地，所以我们就减少了活动内容。这是一个晴朗的星期六下午，我趁着这个机会溜出了营地，赶往那座小山。在老橡树下，我看到那座神秘的小山山顶就在眼前，它是如此地动人心弦。我尽量不引起别人的注意，一路走到了棒球场的边缘，随后溜进了灌木丛。
这条路很难走，也很容易迷失方向，杂草和藤蔓纠缠丛生。我时而被枯木绊倒，时而陷进蚁穴。一踏上沼泽地的小丘，我的脚就往下陷，有时还被枯枝缠住，浸湿的运动鞋里也跑进了许多带刺的草籽。蚊子嗡嗡地叫嚣着，苍蝇盘旋乱撞。我迷失了方向，忘记了时间，只知道拖着沉重的脚步缓慢地前行。
我挣扎着走了至少一个小时，忽然，一片长着桉树和枫树的开阔地出现在眼前，阳光从枝叶间射了进来。我看到前方有一排装潢华丽的小房子。这些房子漆着五颜六色的涡漩形和叶尖形图案，房顶又细又高，盖了一层扇贝形的木瓦。各所房子之间的距离超不过一臂的长度，所有的房间都是空的，没有人居住的痕迹。
这个被阳光照射的小树林，对我这个刚刚走出灌木丛的人来说，就像《格林童话》中的仙境一般。这座奇怪的小村庄似乎在咒语的控制下沉睡了100多年。眼前这座小房子的前廊上有着蓝色的格子，好似在等待汉塞尔和格雷蒂勒的到来。小树林中没有一丝风，白杨树的叶子也软塌塌地垂着，整个林子显得非常安静。停在半空中的蓝蜻蜓和绿蜻蜒一动不动，这更增加了这里的神秘气息。远处，一只小黄鸟的鸣叫声和一只蝉催人打瞌睡的嗡嗡声传入耳中，不然真是寂静无声了。
我走上了一座用石竹花装饰的房子的前廊，透过一个独立的窗户向里面望去。整个房间就放着两把椅子、一张长桌子、一把躺椅以及一盏煤油灯，除此之外，就是一架通往阁楼卧室的梯子，这些都是很普通的家什。这真是迷一样的树林。那里为什么会有那些小房子？为什么空无一人的房间还有人来打理？房子的主人是谁呢？这片空地被这些袖珍小屋挤得满满当当的，恐惧笼罩了我，真希望突然跑出一个看门人，喝问我在这里做什么。
