n as Gordon Makimmon could
bring himself. And, in the sequel, it proved the wisdom of his creed; for,
obviously, the other avoided the implied query. "The Government prints a
good map," he remarked, and turned his shoulder squarely upon any
prolongation of the conversation.

They were now at the summit of Buck Mountain, but dense juniper thickets
hid from them any extended view. After a turn, over the washed, rocky
road, the Greenstream Valley lay outspread below.

The sun was lowering, and the shadow of the western range swept down the
great, somber, wooded wall towering against an illimitable vault of rosy
light; the lengthening shadows of the groves of trees on the lower slope
fell into the dark, cool, emerald cleft. It was scarcely three fields
across the shorn, cultivated space to the opposite, precipitous barrier;
between, the valley ran narrow and rich into a faint, broken haze of peaks
thinly blue on either hand. And, held in the still green heart of that
withdrawn, hidden space, the village lay along its white highway.

The stage dropped with short, sharp rushes down the winding road; the
houses lost the toy-like aspect of distance; cowbells clashed faintly; a
dog's bark quivered, suspended in hushed space. The stage passed the
first, scattered houses, and was speedily in the village: each dwelling
had, behind a white picket fence, a strip of sod and a tangle of simple,
gay flowers--scarlet, white, purple and yellow, now coated with a fine,
chalky, summer dust. The dwellings were, for the most part, frame, with a
rare structure of brick under mansard slates green with moss. The back
yards were fenced from the fields, on which hay had been cut and stood in
high ricks, now casting long, mauve shadows over the close, brilliant
green. The stage passed the white board structure of the Methodist Church,
and stopped before the shallow portico of the post-office.

VI

A small, familiar group awaited the arrival of the mail; and from it
several figures detached themselves. The postmaster stepped forward, and
assisted Gordon in unfastening the mailbags; a clerk from Valentine
Simmons' store, in shirtsleeves elaborately restrained by pink bowed
elastics, inquired for a package by express; and Pompey Hollidew pushed
impatiently forward, apparently anxious for a speedy view of his daughter.
This laudable assumption was, however, immediately upset by the absent nod
he bestowed upon Lettice, and the evident intere