Beyond that, the pastures ran up to meet the forest on another hill.
Looking past this hill, she could see the blue waters of a lake, sparkling in the evening sun.
From the lake the ground rose once more. Up and up it went, with pastures and forests, until it came to the rocky crowns of three mountains.
The mountains were a deep, misty blue. Above them rose the white August clouds, rolling on and on, into the highest heaven.
Clematis drew a long breath.
“It is lovely,” she whispered.
Not far from where they stopped was a white house, with the blinds closed. Vines ran about the front, and all seemed lonely.
“Who lives there?” she asked, finding her tongue at last.
“No one lives there now. A nice old man used to live there, but he had a good deal of sadness. He shut up the house, and went to live in a little place over near Bean Hill.”
He pointed over to another hill which rose in the east.