this and idle
to one's heart's content. There would be trout, as like as not, in that
stony brook back there; sunfish, probably, in that lazy stream crossing
the open meadow yonder. It would be jolly to try one's luck on a day
like this; jolly to lie back on the green bank with a rod beside one and
watch the big white clouds sail across the wide blue of the sky. It
would seem almost like being a boy again!

Presently, when, after passing through the sleepy village of Tottingham,
the road crossed a shallow stream, Wade bade the boy drive through it.

"Don't have to," replied unimaginative fourteen. "There's a bridge."

"I know there is," answered Wade, "but my doctor has forbidden bridges.
Drive through the water. I want to hear it gurgle against the wheels."

He closed his eyes, expectantly content, and so did not see the alarmed
look which the boy shot at him. The horse splashed gingerly into the
stream, the wheels grated musically over the little stones, and the
water lapped and gurgled about the spokes. Wade leaned back with closed
eyes and nodded approvingly. "Just the same," he murmured. "It might be
the ford below Major Dabney's. This is surely God's own country again."

Further on they rattled through the quiet streets of East Tottingham, a
typical New England village built around a square, elm-shaded common. It
was all as Ed had described it; the white church with its tall spire
lost behind the high branches, the Town Hall guarded by an ancient black
cannon, the white houses, the green blinds, the lilac hedges, the
toppling hitching-post before each gate. Tottingham Center succeeded
East Tottingham and they eventually reached Eden Village twenty minutes
behind schedule.

It was difficult to say where country left off and village began, but
after passing the second modest white residence Wade believed he could
safely consider himself within the corporate limits. Before him
stretched a wide road lined with elms. So closely were they planted that
their far-reaching branches formed a veritable roof overhead, through
which at this time of day the sunlight barely trickled. They were sturdy
trees, many of them larger in the trunk than any hogs-head, and
doubtless some of them were almost as old as the village itself. The
cool green-shadowed road circled slightly, so that as they travelled
along it the vista always terminated in a wall of green, flecked at
intervals with a gleam of white where the sun-bathed front