THE LURE OF GREEN FIELDS
The Pollocks proved to be a neighborly family--and a large one. As Henry said, there was a "whole raft of young 'uns" younger than he was. They made Hiram very welcome at the supper table, and showed much curiosity about his personal affairs.
But the young fellow had been used to just such people before. They were not a bad sort, and if they were keenly interested in the affairs of other people, it was because they had few books and newspapers, and small chance to amuse themselves in the many ways which city people have.
Hiram slept with Henry that night, and Henry agreed to show the visitor over the Atterson place the next day.
"I know every stick and stone of it as well as I do ourn," declared Henry. "And Dad won't mind my taking time now. Later--Whew! I tell you, we hafter just git up an' dust to make a crop. Not much chance for fun after a week or two until the corn's laid by.""You know all the boundaries of the Atterson farm, do you?" Hiram asked.
"Yes, sir!" replied Henry, eagerly. "And say! do you like to fish?" "Of course; who doesn't?""Then we'll take some lines and hooks along--and mother'll lend us a pan and kettle. Say! We'll start early--'fore anybody's a-stir--and I bet there'll be a big trout jumping in the pool under the big sycamore.""That certain-sure sounds good to me!" cried Hiram, enthusiastically.
So it was agreed, and before day, while the mist was yet rolling across the fields, and the hedge sparrows were beginning to chirp, the two set forth from the Pollock place, crossed the wet fields, and the road, and set off down the slope of a long hill, following, as Henry said, near the east boundary of the Atterson farm--the line running from the automobile road to the river.
It was a dull spring morning. The faint breeze that stirred on the hillside was damp, but odorous with new-springing herbs. As Hiram andHenry descended the aisle of the pinewood, the treetops whispered together as though curious of these bold humans who disturbed their solitude.
"It doesn't look as though anybody had been here at the back end of old Jeptha Atterson's farm for years," said Hiram.
"And it's a fact that nobody gets down this way often," Henry responded.
The brown tags sprung under their feet; now and then a dew-wet branch swept Hiram's cheek, seeking with its cold fingers to stay his progress. It was an enchanted forest, and the boy, heart-hungry from his two years of city life, was enchanted, too!
Hiram learned from talking with his companion that at one time the piece of thirty-year-old timber they were walking through had been tilled-- after a fashion. But it had never been properly cleared, as the hacked and ancient stumpage betrayed.
Here and there the lines of corn rows which had been plowed when the last crop was laid by were plainly revealed to Hiram's observing eye. Where corn had grown once, it should grow again; and the pine timber would more than pay for being cut, for blowing out the big stumps with dynamite, and tam-harrowing the side hill.
Finally they reached a point where the ground fell away more abruptly and the character of the timber changed, as well. Instead of the stately pines, this more abrupt declivity was covered with hickory and oak. The sparse brush sprang out of rank, black mold.
Charmed by the prospect, Hiram and Henry descended this hill and came suddenly, through a fringe of brush, to the border of an open cove, or bottom.
At some time this lowland, too, had been cleared and cultivated; but now young pines, quick-springing and lush, dotted the five or six acres of practically open land which was as level as one's palm.
It was two hundred yards, or more, in width and at the farther side a hedge of alders and pussywillows grew, with the green mist of young leaves upon them, and here and there a ghostly sycamore, stretching its slender bole into the air, edged the course of the river.
Hiram viewed the scene with growing delight. His eyes sparkled and a smile came to his lips as he crossed, with springy steps, the open meadow on which the grass was already showing green in patches.
Between the line of the wood they had left and the breadth of the meadow was a narrow, marshy strip into which a few stones had been cast, and on these they crossed dry shod. The remainder of the bottom-land was firm.
"Ain't this jest a scrumptious place?" demanded Henry, and Hiram agreed.
At the river's edge they parted the bushes and looked down upon the oily-flowing brown flood. It was some thirty feet broad and with the melting of the snows in the mountains was so deep that no sign was apparent here of the rocks which covered its bed.
