CHAPTER XIII. 



AT THE SPRING. 



THE path across the fields is so well worn that 

 one can find his way along its devious course by 

 night almost as easily as by day. I have gone over 

 it at all hours, and have never returned without 

 some fresh and cheering memory for other and less 

 favored days. The fields across which it leads 

 one, with the unfailing suggestion of something 

 better beyond, are undulating and dotted here and 

 there with browsing cattle. The landscape is full 

 of pastoral repose and charm the charm of familiar 

 things that are touched with old memories, and 

 upon whose natural beaut) there rests the reflected 

 light of days that have become idyllic. No one 

 can walk along a country road, over which as a boy 

 he heard the daily invitation of the schoolhouse 

 bell without discovering at every turn some love 

 liness never revealed save to the glance of unfor- 

 gotten youth. The path which leads to the spring 

 has this unfailing charm for me, and for many who 

 have long ceased to follow its winding course. At 

 this season it is touched here and there by the 

 autumnal splendor, and fairly riots in the profusion 

 of the golden-rod, whose yellow plumes are lighting 

 71 



