Roger Allan ever suspect the real reason for all those comfortable
sitting-down places in Joe's shop. And Joe never tells a soul that it is
just an idea of his for keeping his own two boys and the boys of other
men under his eye. In Joe's gentle opinion the hotel and livery barn and
blacksmith shop are not exactly the best places for young boys to
frequent. But of course Joe never mentions such opinions out loud even
to the boys. He just makes his shop as inviting and homelike as
possible, keeps the daily papers handy on the counter and a basket of
nuts or apples maybe under his workbench. He is never lonely nor does he
miss a bit of news though he seldom goes anywhere but to the barber shop
on Saturdays and to church on Sundays.

Out on her sunny cellar steps sits Mrs. Jerry Dustin, sorting onion sets
and seed potatoes. She is a little, rounded old lady with silvery hair,
the softest, smoothest, fairest of complexions, forget-me-not eyes and a
smile that is as gladdening as a golden daffodil. Few people know that
she has in her heart a longing to see the world, a longing so intense, a
life-long wanderlust so great that had she been a man it would have swept
her round the globe. But she has never crossed the State line. She has
big sons and daughters who all somehow have inherited their father's
stay-at-home nature. Her youngest boy, Peter, however, is only seventeen
and on him she has built her last hopes. He, like herself, has a gipsy
song in his heart and she often dreams of the places they will visit
together.

And while she is waiting for Peter to grow up she travels about and
around Green Valley. She wanders far up the Glen Road into the deep
fairy woods between Green Valley and Spring Road. Here she strays alone
for hours, searching for ferns and adventure.