Ethel and I took turns in driving, while James and Minerva sat on the back seat.
Great billows of clouds lapped the shores of blue above us and cast huge shadows on the hillside; shadows that moving changed the entire aspect of the places over which they passed.
Bobolinks launched themselves and their songs at the same time and gave to the day a quality that no other songster is ever able to impart. It was a morning to inspire happiness.
“What a heavenly country this is,” said Ethel; “I’d like to live here until the leaves color.”
“I dare say it would be nice here in the winter time, too.”
“Oof!” shuddered Ethel. “Pretty but dreadful. How can anyone keep warm in the country in the wintertime?”
Her remark had been heard by Minerva, and she said to James:
“Do folks leave here in winter?”
“No, indeed,” said James. “Winter’s the best time of the year up here. I jus’ like the cold. Coastin’ from here to the village, a mile and a half. Everybody does it. And skating! Umm. You ought to stay up here in winter.”
“Oh, lawdy, if it’s so sad in the summer I’d die in the winter. Don’t the wind howl like a dog?”