“Good evening, Walter. I was afraid you would go away without coming to see me.”
“I couldn’t think of that, sir; I came up to the school-house, and then kept on.”
“Then you are all dressed for Sabbath, and I shan’t let you go from here to-night; stop right here, and go to meeting with us in the morning.”
“I fear I shall hinder you, sir.”
“Not a whit. Uncle Isaac has been helping me break up, and has just gone from here; we’ve done work enough for one day. I’m going to clean up and rest; come, go in; supper is about ready.”
Walter assisted Charlie to milk, and do his chores, and as the twilight came on, they sat down together beneath a tree near the edge of a bank, where the brook met the waters of the bay.
It was a most picturesque, lovely spot, one that Charlie dearly loved, and to which he never took any one who he knew was incapable of appreciating it; he didn’t like to have his chosen spots like an unfenced common, for everybody and everything to trample on.
It was a warm evening, the first of September; the season had been moist and shady; not a leaf gave token of decay. Just above them they saw the white foam of the water, as it fell in broken wreaths of foam over the precipice, and caught again the gleam of it through the leaves, as with tranquil current it met the waters of the bay, rolling with a low ripple upon the white sand of the beach.
They sat with their backs against a large oak that grew double, forking just above their heads, and thus, being rather flat than round, offered a convenient rest.