was nothing to be seen except that in the Martin orchard "Ol' Martin"
was working with his team under the trees which came in rows down to
the road. Finding nothing to interest him there, he turned toward the
village and his eyes searched the street. Opposite the Gwynnes' gate,
Dr. Bush's house stood back among the trees, but there was no sign of
life about it. Further down on the same side of the street, the Widow
Martin's cottage, with porch vine covered and windows bright with
flowers, hid itself under a great spreading maple. In front of the
cottage the Widow Martin herself was busy in the garden. He liked the
Widow Martin but found her not sufficiently exciting to hold him this
spring morning. A vacant lot or two and still on the same side came the
blacksmith's shop just at the crossroads, and across the street from
it his father's store. But neither at the blacksmith's shop nor at
the store across from it was there anything to awaken even a passing
interest. Some farmers' teams and dogs, Pat Larkin's milk wagon with
its load of great cans on its way to the cheese factory and some stray
villagers here and there upon the street intent upon their business. Up
the street his eye travelled beyond the crossroads where stood on the
left Cheatley's butcher shop and on the right McKenny's hotel with
attached sheds and outhouses. Over the bridge and up the hill the street
went straight away, past the stone built Episcopal Church whose spire
lifted itself above the maple trees, past the Rectory, solid, square and
built of stone, past the mill standing on the right back from the street
beside the dam, over the hill, and so disappeared. The whole village
seemed asleep and dreaming among its maple trees in the bright sunlight.

Throwing another glance at the robin still singing on the treetop
overhead, the boy took from his pocket a mouth-organ, threw back his
head, squared his elbows out from his sides to give him the lung room he
needed, and in obedience to a sharp word of command after a preliminary