The egg-and-chicken man surrendered. "Middling," he answered
respectfully, "but it smells so good and things looks so pretty, I
don't mind. I'm glad I don't live in the city. It's all pavin'-stone
an' smoke. This time o' year I like to feel the dirt under m' feet,
somehow."
"So do I," said Caroline fervently. They jogged on for a mile in
silence.
"I have to get out here," said he, finally, "but don't be scared.
That horse won't move a peg without me. I'll be back in a minute."
But when he returned she was not there.
The houses were thinning out rapidly; one side of the road was
already only a succession of fields, and along a tiny worn path
through one of these Caroline was hurrying nervously. She crossed
the widening brook, almost a little river now, and kept along its
farther bank for half an hour, then left it and struck into the
fringe of the woods.
It was very still here; the road was far away, and only the chatter
of the birds and the liquid cluck of the little stream disturbed the
stillness of the growing things. She walked softly, except for the
whisper of brushing against the spreading branches that choked the
tiny path. The heat of noon was rising to its climax, and the shafts
of light struck warm on her cheeks.
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