feared to trust them. So I caught the
west-bound train and reached Utica three hours late. There I bought a
good horse and his saddle and bridle and hurried up the north road. When
he was near spent I traded him for a well-knit Morgan mare up in the
little village of Sandy Creek. Oh, I knew a good horse as well as the
next man and a better one than she I never owned--never. I was back in
my saddle at six in the afternoon and stopped for feed and an hour's
rest at nine and rode on through the night. I reached the hamlet of
Richville soon after daybreak and put out for a rest of two hours. I
could take it easy then. At seven o'clock the mare and I started again,
well fed and eager to go on.

It was a summer morning that shortens the road--even that of the young
lover. Its air was sweet with the breath of the meadows. The daisies and
the clover and the cornflowers and the wild roses seemed to be waving a
welcome to me and the thorn trees--shapely ornament of my native
hills--were in blossom. A cloud of pigeons swept across the blue deep
above my head. The great choir of the fields sang to me--bobolinks, song
sparrows, meadowlarks, bluebirds, warblers, wrens, and far away in the
edge of a spruce thicket I heard the flute of the white-throated sparrow
in this refrain:

[Illustration: Music.]

When, years later, I heard the wedding march in Lohengrin I knew where
Wagner had got his theme.

I bathed at a brook in the woods and put on a clean silk shirt and tie
out of my saddlebags. I rode slowly then to the edge of the village of
Canton and turned at the bridge and took the river road, although I had
time to spare. How my heart was beating as I neared the familiar scene!
The river slowed its pace there, like a discerning traveler, to enjoy
the beauty of its shores. Smooth and silent was the water and in it were
the blue of the sky and the feathery shadow-spires of cedar and tamarack
and the reflected blossoms of iris and meadow rue. It was a lovely
scene.

There was the pine, but where was my lady? I dismounted and tied my mare
and looked at my watch. It lacked twenty minutes of eleven. She would
come--I had no doubt of it. I washed my hands and face and neck in the
cool water. Suddenly I heard a voice I knew singing: _Barney Leave the
Girls Alone_. I turned and saw--your mother, my son[1]. She was in the
stern of a birch canoe, all dressed in white with roses in her hair. I
raised my hat and she threw a kiss at me. Old