The oak-tree was dying
at the top. The pine woods beyond had been cut and had grown again
since his boyhood, and looked much as he remembered them. Beyond the
spring and away from the woods the path led across overgrown pastures
to another road, perhaps three quarters of a mile away, and near this
road was the small farm which had been his former home. As he walked
slowly along, he was met again and again by some reminder of his
youthful days. He had always liked to refer to his early life in New
England in his political addresses, and had spoken more than once of
going to find the cows at nightfall in the autumn evenings, and being
glad to warm his bare feet in the places where the sleepy beasts had
lain, before he followed their slow steps homeward through bush and
brier. The Honorable Mr. Laneway had a touch of true sentiment which
added much to his really stirring and effective campaign speeches. He
had often been called the "king of the platform" in his adopted State.
He had long ago grown used to saying "Go" to one man, and "Come" to
another, like the ruler of old; but all his natural power of
leadership and habit of authority disappeared at once as he trod the
pasture slopes, calling back the remembrance of his childhood. Here
was the place where two lads, older than himself, had killed a
terrible woodchuck at bay in the angle of a great rock; and just
beyond was the sunny spot where he had picked a bunch of pink and
white anemones under a prickly barberry thicket, to give to Abby
Harran in morning school.
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