"You see it was as well not to risk it," Rodney said, as Sylvie came up with him beyond. "He would have had us down there among the blackberry vines. He's all right now. Will you get in?"
"Let us walk on to the top," said Sylvie. "It is so pleasant to feel one's feet upon the ground."
They kept on, accordingly; the slow team rumbling behind them. At the top, was a wide, beautiful level; oak-trees and maples grew along the roadside, and fields stretched out along a table land to right and left. Before them, lying in the golden mist of twilight, was a sea of distant hill-tops,—purple and shadow-black and gray. The sky bent down its tender, mellow sphere, and touched them softly.
Sylvie stood still, with folded hands, and Rodney stopped the horse. A rod or two back, just at the edge of the level, the loaded wagon had stopped also.
"Hills,—and the sunset,—and stillness," said Sylvie. "They always seem like heaven."
Rodney stood with his right hand, from which fell the looped reins, reached up and resting on the saddle.
"I never saw a sight like that before," he said.
While they looked, the evening star trembled out through the clear saffron, above the floating mist that hung among the hills.
"O, they never can help it!" exclaimed Sylvie, suddenly.
"Help it? Who?" asked Rodney, wondering.