The time for them was not yet. The hour called for hardy
adventurous things, awakened out of their cold sleep on the rocks. The
blue of the firmament was not dark summer blue but seemed the sky's
first pale response to the sun. The sun was not rich summer gold but
flashed silver rays. The ground scattered no odors; all was the budding
youth of Nature on the rocks.
Paths wind hither and thither over this park hillside. Benches are
placed at different levels along the way. If you are going up, you may
rest; if you are coming down, you may linger; if neither going up nor
coming down, you may with a book seek out some retreat of shade and
coolness and keep at a distance the millions that rush and crush around
the park as waters roar against some lone mid-ocean island.
About eleven o'clock that morning, on one of these benches placed where
rock is steepest and forest trees stand close together and vines are
rank with shade, a sociable-looking little fellow of some ten hardy
well-buffeted years had sat down for the moment without a companion. He
had thrown upon the bench beside him his sun-faded, rain-faded,
shapeless cap, uncovering much bronzed hair; and as though by this
simple act he had cleared the way for business, he thrust one
capable-looking hand deep into one of his pockets.
Pages:
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27