lls afar off--the same stream that further up country was
to be pent between walls and prisoned to make a reservoir. Sitting
there, we gazed upon the soft yet glowing beauty of it all, with never a
thought of pick and spade, grub axe or crowbar, to pry between the rocks
of the knoll to find the depth or quality of its soil or test the
planting possibilities.

"Let us go up to the woods and see Blake; he wrote me that he is to be
there to-day, and suggested we should both meet him and see the
treasure-trove to be found there before the spring blossoms are quite
shed," said Bart, suddenly, fumbling among the letters in his pocket;
"and by the way, he said he would come back with us. He evidently
forgets that we are not 'at home' to company!"

"But _The Man from Everywhere_ is not company. He is simply a permanent
institution and can go on dropping in as usual all summer if he likes.
Ann-stasia adores him, for did he not bring her a beautiful sandalwood
rosary of carved beads from somewhere and a pair of real tortoise-shell
combs not two months ago? And of course Maria Maxwell will not object;
why should she? he will come and go as usual, and she will hardly know
that he is in the house."

Barney harnessed the mild-faced horse of our neighbour's lending to that
most comfortable of all vehicles, a buggy with an ample box behind and a
top that can be dropped and made into a deep pocket to hold gleanings,
or raised as a shield from sun and rain. Ah! dear Mrs. Evan, is there
anything that turns a sober, settled married couple backward to the
enchanted "engaged" region like driving away through the spring lanes in
a buggy pulled by a horse who has had nature-loving owners, so that he
seems to know by intuition when to pause and when it would be most
acceptable to his passengers to have him wander from the beaten track
and browse among the tender wayside grasses that always seem so much
more tempting than any pasture grazing?

As you will infer from this, Romeo is not only of a gentle, meditative
disposition, but his harness is destitute of a check rein, overdraw, or
otherwise.

"Have you put in the trowels?" I asked, as we drove out the gate, the
reins hanging so loosely from between Bart's knees, as he lit his pipe,
that it was by mere chance that Romeo took the right turn.

"No, I never thought of them; this is merely a prospecting trip. Did you
put in the lunch?"

I was obliged to confess that I had not, but later on