and exchange a few
words with those whom he passed on the road. There were cheery faces
everywhere--even those of the sufferers who straggled out along the
road coming back from the Patriarch's cottage. It was a cheery
afternoon, warm and balmy and bright--everything was cheery. The
farmers, their vocations for the moment changed, waved their whips at
him and shouted friendly pleasantries as they drove by with those who
were unable to make the trip from the Patriarch's unaided.

Madison began to experience a strange, exhilarating sense of uplift upon
him, a sort of rather commendatory and gratified feeling with himself.
Marvin had hit it pretty nearly right with his "clean-wholesomeness"
idea--it kind of made one feel good to be a part of it. Madison, for the
time being, relegated Helena and his immediate mission to a secondary
place in his thoughts.

Young girls, young men, middle-aged men, elderly women, all ages of both
sexes he passed as he went along; some alone, some in couples, some in
little groups, some on crutches, some in wheel-chairs, some walking
without extraneous aid--he had turned into the woods now, and he could
see them strewn out all along the wagon track under the cool,
interlacing branches overhead.

Now he stepped aside to let a wagon pass him, and answered the farmer's
call and the smile of the occupants in kind; now some one stopped to
tell him again the story of the afternoon--there had been cures that day
and the Patriarch had come amongst them. Some laughed, some sang a
little, softly, to themselves--all smiled--all spoke in glad, hopeful
words, clean words--there seemed no base thought in any mind, only that
cleanness, that wholesomeness that had so appealed to Marvin--that
somehow Madison found he was taking a delight in responding to, and,
because it afforded him whimsical pleasure, chose to pretend that he was
quite a genuine exponent of it himself.

He reached the end of the wagon track, and paused involuntarily on the
edge of the Patriarch's lawn as he came out from the trees. Like low,
lulling music came the distant, mellowed noise of waters, the breaking
surf. And the cottage was a bower of green now, clothed in ivy and
vine--upon the trellises the early roses were budding--fragrance of
growing things blended with the salt, invigorating breeze from the
ocean. And upon the lawn, flanked with its sturdy maples, all in leaf,
that toned the sunshine in soft-falling shadows, stood, or s