caused him to cast a backward glance over his own smooth, middle-aged
road.

"We've prospered, 'ain't we, Maria?" he said, at last; and his wife,
unconsciously following his thoughts, in the manner of those who have
lived long together, stroked her black silk _visite_, and answered,
with a well-satisfied nod:

"I guess we 'ain't got no cause to complain."

The roadside was parched under an August sun; tansy was dust-covered,
and ferns had grown ragged and gray. The jogging horses left behind
their lazy feet a suffocating cloud.

"My land!" cried Mrs. Pike, "if that ain't goldenrod! I do b'lieve it
comes earlier every year, or else the seasons are changin'. See them
elderberries! Ain't they purple! You jest remember that bush, an' when
we go back, we'll fill some pails. I dunno when I've made elderberry
wine."

Like her husband, she was vaguely excited; she began to feel as if life
would be all holidays. At noon, they stopped under the shadow of an
elm-tree which, from its foothold in a field, completely arched the
road; and there they ate a lunch of pie and doughnuts, while the
horses, freed from their headstalls, placidly munched a generous feed
of oats, near by. Hattie and her mother accepted this picnicking with
an air of apologetic amusement; and when one or two passers-by looked
at them, they smiled a little at vacancy, with the air of wishing it
understood that they were by no means accustomed to such
irregularities.