CHAPTEE XXVH 



THE IXJJ IN THE FOBEST STKAXGE KEWS 



"We return to the old forest inn once more. It is 

 toward evening, and the same people are there — Calvert, 

 the farmers, and the hermit of the hut at the mouth of 

 Echo Cave. 



The farmers are weary and are resting on the bench 

 under the trees, some holding rakes and some pitchforks in 

 their hands. Their horses are eating green grass by the 

 wayside. Herons and birds that go in the long twilights 

 to feed on the banks of the rivers are wending their soli- 

 tary ways in the clear sky, their plumage reddened by the 

 flushes of the near sunset. 



The woods are still. The chambers of the air hold a 

 " solemn stillness," save the chippering of swallows. 



A lusty man came riding up to the inn. He had been 

 to the village and had brought the weekly mail. He spread 

 the letters on the open table of the shop part of the inn, 

 which served as a post-office, then took his weekly Wash- 

 ington paper out to the stoop and sat down. 



"What's the news, Squire James?" asked one of the 



farmers. 



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