After breakfast we all went out into the garden， Mrs. Vedder in an old straw hat and a big apron， and Mr. Vedder in a pair of old brown overalls. Two men had appeared from somewhere， and were digging in the vegetable garden. After giving them certain directions Mr. Vedder and I both found five-tined forks and went into the rose garden and began turning over the rich soil， while Mrs. Vedder， with pruning-shears， kept near us， cutting out the dead wood.
It was one of the charming forenoons of my life. This pleasant work， spiced with the most interesting conversation and interrupted by a hundred little excursions into other parts of the garden， to see this or that wonder of vegetation， brought us to dinner-time before we fairly knew it.
About the middle of the afternoon I made the next discovery. I heard first the choking cough of a big motor-car in the country road， and a moment later it stopped at our gate. I thought I saw the Vedders exchanging significant glances. A number of merry young people tumbled out， and an especially pretty girl of about twenty came running through the garden.
"Mother，" she exclaimed， "you MUST come with us！"
"I can't， I can't，" said Mrs. Vedder， "the roses MUST be pruned--and see！ The azaleas are coming into bloom."
With that she presented me to her daughter.
And， then， shortly， for it could no longer be concealed， I learned that Mr. and Mrs. Vedder were not the caretakers but the owners of the estate and of the great house I had seen on the hill. That evening， with an air almost of apology， they explained to me how it all came about.
"We first came out here，" said Mrs. Vedder， "nearly twenty years ago， and built the big house on the hill. But the more we came to know of country life the more we wanted to get down into it. We found it impossible up there--so many unnecessary things to see to and care for--and we couldn't--we didn't see--"
"The fact is，" Mr. Vedder put in， "we were losing touch with each other."
"There is nothing like a big house，" said Mrs. Vedder， "to separate a man and his wife."
"So we came down here，" said Mr. Vedder， "built this little cottage， and developed this garden mostly with our own hands. We would have sold the big house long ago if it hadn't been for our friends. They like it."
"I have never heard a more truly romantic story，" said I.
And it WAS romantic： these fine people escaping from too many possessions， too much property， to the peace and quietude of a garden where they could be lovers again.
"It seems， sometimes，" said Mrs. Vedder， "that I never really believed in God until we came down here--"
"I saw the verse on the table in the arbour，" said I.
"And it is true，" said Mr. Vedder. "We got a long， long way from God for many years： here we seem to get back to Him."
I had fully intended to take the road again that afternoon， but how could any one leave such people as those？ We talked again late that night， but the next morning， at the leisurely Sunday breakfast， I set my hour of departure with all the firmness I could command. I left them， indeed， before ten o'clock that forenoon. I shall never forget the parting. They walked with me to the top of the hill， and there we stopped and looked back. We could see the cottage half hidden among the trees， and the little opening that the precious garden made. For a time we stood there quite silent.
"Do you remember，" I said presently， "that character in Homer who was a friend of men and lived in a house by the side of the road？
I shall always think of you as friends of men--you took in a dusty traveller. And I shall never forget your house by the side of the road."
"The House by the Side of the Road--you have christened it anew， David Grayson，" exclaimed Mrs. Vedder.
And so we parted like old friends， and I left them to return to their garden， where "'tis very sure God walks."
第一章CHAPTER IV. I AM THE SPECTATOR OF A MIGHTY BATTLE， IN WHICH CHRISTIAN MEETS APPOLLYON
It is one of the prime joys of the long road that no two days are ever remotely alike--no two hours even； and sometimes a day that begins calmly will end with the most stirring events.
It was thus， indeed， with that perfect spring Sunday， when I left my friends， the Vedders， and turned my face again to the open country. It began as quietly as any Sabbath morning of my life， but what an end it had！ I would have travelled a thousand miles for the adventures which a bounteous road that day spilled carelessly into my willing hands.
I can give no adequate reason why it should be so， but there are Sunday mornings in the spring--at least in our country-- which seem to put on， like a Sabbath garment， an atmosphere of divine quietude. Warm， soft， clear， but， above all， immeasurably serene.
Such was that Sunday morning； and I was no sooner well afoot than I yielded to the ingratiating mood of the day. Usually I am an active walker， loving the sense of quick motion and the stir it imparts to both body and mind， but that morning I found myself loitering， looking widely about me， and enjoying the lesser and quieter aspects of nature. It was a fine wooded country in which I found myself， and I soon struck off the beaten road and took to the forest and the fields. In places the ground was almost covered with meadow-rue， like green shadows on the hillsides， not yet in seed， but richly umbrageous. In the long green grass of the meadows shone the yellow star-flowers， and the sweet-flags were blooming along the marshy edges of the ponds. The violets had disappeared， but they were succeeded by wild geraniums and rank-growing vetches.
I remember that I kept thinking from time to time， all the forenoon， as my mind went back swiftly and warmly to the two fine friends from whom I had so recently parted：
