n the woods, two or three miles from
here. A woman lives there--the widow of a man that used to sail with my
father. My father was captain of a ship, Mr. Linden. Mr. Seacomb was
one of his mates, and very fond of him; and we go to see Mrs. Seacomb
once in a while. I don't think, perhaps, you would like it. It's a
pretty ride."

"That is a kind of ride I do like."

"But I don't know whether you would like it all. If you say so, I will
have up the wagon."

"Thank you--_that_ I should not like. I prefer to have it up myself,
Miss Faith--if you will have up your bonnet."

Faith's face gave way at that, and the bonnet and the wagon were up
accordingly.

The way led first down the high road, bordered with gardens and farms
and the houses of the village--if village it were called, where the
neighbours looked at each other's distant windows across wide tracts of
meadow, orchards and grain fields. The road was reasonably dusty, in
the warm droughts of September; nevertheless the hedgerows that grew
thick in many places shewed gay tufts of autumn flowering; and the
mellow light lay on every wayside object and sober distance like the
reflection from a butterfly's wing. Except the light, all changed when
they got into the woody road.

It was woody indeed!--except where it was grassy; and woods and grass
played hide and seek with each other. The grass-grown road, its thicker
grass borders--where bright fall flowers raised their proud little
heads; the old fence, broken down in places, where bushes burst through
and half filled the gap; bright hips on the wild rosebushes, tufts of
yellow fern leaves, brilliant handfuls of red and yellow which here a
maple and there a pepperidge held out over the road; the bushy,
bosquey, look which the uncut undergrowth gave the wood on either hand;
the gleams of soft green light, the bands of shadow, the deeper
thickets where the eye looked twice and came back unsatisfied,--over
all the blue sky, with forest leaves for a border. Such was the woody
road that afternoon. Flocks of little birds of passage flitted and
twittered about their night's lodging, or came down to feast on
wintergreen or cedar berries; and Mrs. Derrick's old horse walked
softly on, as if he knew no one was in a hurry.

"'With what a glory comes and goes the year'!" Mr. Linden said.

"And stays all the while, don't it?" said Faith rather timidly and
after an instant's hesitation.

"Yes, in a sort--though to my fancy th