We enjoyed our walk--even Felix enjoyed it, although he had been
appointed to write up the visit for Our Magazine and was rather
weighed down by the responsibility of it. What mattered it though
the world were gray and wintry? We walked the golden road and
carried spring time in our hearts, and we beguiled our way with
laughter and jest, and the tales the Story Girl told us--myths and
legends of elder time.
The walking was good, for there had lately been a thaw and
everything was frozen. We went over fields, crossed by spidery
trails of gray fences, where the withered grasses stuck forlornly
up through the snow; we lingered for a time in a group of hill
pines, great, majestic tree-creatures, friends of evening stars;
and finally struck into the belt of fir and maple which intervened
between Carlisle and Baywater. It was in this locality that Peg
Bowen lived, and our way lay near her house though not directly in
sight of it. We hoped we would not meet her, for since the affair
of the bewitchment of Paddy we did not know quite what to think of
Peg; the boldest of us held his breath as we passed her haunts,
and drew it again with a sigh of relief when they were safely left
behind.
The woods were full of the brooding stillness that often precedes
a storm, and the wind crept along their white, cone-sprinkled
floors with a low, wailing cry.
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