down from the hill-sides a
spicy remembrance of budding shoots and the drawn-out
sweetness of pine and fir and hemlock and cedar. The day grew
sultrily warm. But though sunlight and spring winds carried
their tokens to memory's gates and left them there, they were
taken no note of at the time, by one traveller, and the other
had no mental apparatus fine enough to gather them up.

He had feeling or delicacy enough of another kind, however, to
keep him quiet. He sometimes looked at Winthrop; never spoke
to him. Almost never; if he spoke at all, it was in some aside
or counsel-taking with himself about the weather, the way, or
the prospect and management of the farming along the river.
They stopped only to bait or to rest their horses; even at
those times Mr. Underhill restrained himself not only from
talking to Winthrop but from talking before him; and except
when his companion was at a distance, kept as quiet as he.
Winthrop asked no questions.

The road grew hilly, and in some places rough, trying to the
horses; and by the time they were fairly among the mountain
land that stood down far south from Wut-a-qut-o, the sun was
nearing the fair broken horizon line of the western shore. The
miles were long now, when they were no longer many; the road
was more and more steep and difficult; the horses weary. The
sun travelled faster than they did. A gentler sunlight never
lay in spring-time upon those hills and river; it made the
bitter turmoil and dread of the way seem the more harsh and
ungentle. Their last stopping-place was at Cowslip's Mill -- on
the spot where seven years before, Winthrop had met the stage-
coach and its consignment of ladies.

"The horses must have a minute here -- and a bite," said Mr.
Underhill letting himself slowly down from his beast; -- "lose
no time by it."

For a change of posture Winthrop threw himself off, and stood
leaning on the saddle, while his travelling companion and Mr.
Cowslip came up the rise bringing water and food to the
horses. No more than a grave nod was exchanged between
Winthrop and his old neighbour; neither said one word; and as
soon as the buckets were empty the travellers were on their
way again.

It was but a little way now. The sun had gone behind the
mountain, the wind had died, the perfect stillness and
loveliness of evening light was over hill and river and the
home land, as the riders came out from the woods upon the foot
of the bay and saw it all before the