The Lilac Girl | Page 4

word Village, lest they appear
to be practising deception toward the world at large. But this is only a
theory. True it is, however, that while Stepping and Tottingham and

Little Maynard and all the other settlements around are content to exist
without explanatory suffixes, Eden maintains and is everywhere
accorded the right to be known as Eden Village. Even as far away as
Redding, a good eight miles distant, where you leave the Boston train,
Eden's prerogative is known and respected.
Wade Herrick discovered this when, five years after our first glimpse of
him, he stepped from the express at Redding, and, bag in hand, crossed
the station platform and addressed himself to a wise-looking,
freckle-faced youth of fourteen occupying the front seat of a rickety
carryall.
"How far is it to Eden, son?" asked Wade.
"You mean Eden Village?" responded the boy, leisurely.
"I suppose so. Are there two Edens around here?"
"Nope; just Eden Village."
"Well, where is that, how far is it, and how do I get there?"
"About eight miles," answered the boy. "I kin take you there."
Wade viewed the discouraged-looking, flea-bitten gray horse dubiously.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "Have you ever driven that horse eight miles
in one day?"
"Well, I guess! There ain't a better horse in town than he is."
"How long will it take?"
"Oh, about an hour; hour an' a half; two hours--"
"Hold on! That's enough. This isn't exactly a sight-seeing expedition,
son. We'll compromise on an hour and a half; what do you say?"
The boy examined the prospective passenger silently. Then he looked
at the horse. Then he cocked an eye at the sun. Finally he nodded his

head.
"All right," he said. Wade deposited his satchel in the carriage and
referred to an address written on the back of a letter.
"Now, where does Mr. Rufus Lightener do business?"
"Over there at the bank."
"Good. And where can I get something to eat?"
"Stand up or sit down?"
"Well, preferably 'sit down.'"
"Railroad Hotel. Back there about a block. Dinner, fifty cents."
"I certainly am glad I found you," said Wade. "I don't know what I'd
have done in this great city without your assistance. Now you take me
over to the bank. After that we'll pay a visit to the hotel. You'd better
get something to eat yourself while I'm partaking of that half-dollar
banquet."
An hour later the journey began. Wade, fairly comfortable on the back
seat of the carryall, smoked his after-dinner pipe. The month was June,
there had been recent rains and the winding, dipping country road
presented new beauties to the eyes at every stage. Wade, fresh from the
mountains of Colorado, revelled in the softer and gentler loveliness
about him. The lush, level meadow, the soft contour of the distant hills,
the ever-present murmur and sparkle of running water delighted him
even while they brought homesick memories of his own native Virginia.
It was a relief to get away from the towering mountains, the eternal
blue of unclouded skies, the parched, arid miles of unclothed mesa, the
clang and rattle of ore cars and the incessant grinding of quartz mills.
Yes, it was decidedly pleasant to have a whole summer--if he wanted
it--in which to go where he liked, do what he liked. One might do much
worse, he reflected, than find some such spot as this and idle to one's
heart's content. There would be trout, as like as not, in that stony brook

back there; sunfish, probably, in that lazy stream crossing the open
meadow yonder. It would be jolly to try one's luck on a day like this;
jolly to lie back on the green bank with a rod beside one and watch the
big white clouds sail across the wide blue of the sky. It would seem
almost like being a boy again!
Presently, when, after passing through the sleepy village of Tottingham,
the road crossed a shallow stream, Wade bade the boy drive through it.
"Don't have to," replied unimaginative fourteen. "There's a bridge."
"I know there is," answered Wade, "but my doctor has forbidden
bridges. Drive through the water. I want to hear it gurgle against the
wheels."
He closed his eyes, expectantly content, and so did not see the alarmed
look which the boy shot at him. The horse splashed gingerly into the
stream, the wheels grated musically over the little stones, and the water
lapped and gurgled about the spokes. Wade leaned back with closed
eyes and nodded approvingly. "Just the same," he murmured. "It might
be the ford below Major Dabney's. This is surely God's own country
again."
Further on they rattled through the quiet streets of East Tottingham, a
typical New England village built around a square, elm-shaded
common. It was