East Tottingham and they eventually reached Eden Village twenty minutes
behind schedule.

It was difficult to say where country left off and village began, but
after passing the second modest white residence Wade believed he could
safely consider himself within the corporate limits. Before him
stretched a wide road lined with elms. So closely were they planted that
their far-reaching branches formed a veritable roof overhead, through
which at this time of day the sunlight barely trickled. They were sturdy
trees, many of them larger in the trunk than any hogs-head, and
doubtless some of them were almost as old as the village itself. The
cool green-shadowed road circled slightly, so that as they travelled
along it the vista always terminated in a wall of green, flecked at
intervals with a gleam of white where the sun-bathed front of some house
peeked through. Wade viewed the quaint old place with interest, for here
Ed had lived when a boy, and many a story of Eden Village had Wade
listened to.

The houses were set, usually, close to the street, with sometimes a
wooden fence, sometimes a hedge of lilacs before them. But more often
yard and sidewalk fraternized. Flowers were not numerous; undoubtedly
the elms threw too much shade to allow of successful floriculture. But
there were lilacs still in bloom, lavender and white, and their perfume
stirred memories. The houses in Eden Village were not crowded; for the
first quarter of a mile they passed hardly more than a dozen. After
that, although they became more neighborly, each held itself well aloof.
Then came a small church with a disproportionately tall spire, a
watering trough, the Town Hall, and "Prout's Store, Zenas Prout 2nd,
Proprietor." Here the gray sidled up to the ancient hitching-post. The
boy tossed the reins over the dashboard and jumped out. "You don't need