Russell drove up alongside the car ahead.
“Say,” he called, “this is great! Why didn’t you tell a fellow we were bound for the clouds?”
“I thought you knew,” returned Polly. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it!” Russell took off his hat, and gazed down the valley. “It makes a man feel pretty small,” he said.
Near at hand lay rolling, pine-scattered pastures, with now and then a cultivated field or fruited orchard. Farther on, the little town of Overlook stretched itself in a long line from the wooded north to the open south, where shining pleasure cars ran in and out of the covered bridge that spanned the village brook, looking like children’s toys that could rest in the palm of one’s hand. Beyond stood the green hills, with an occasional white farmhouse or a parti-colored bungalow, and then range upon range of hazy mountains until they melted into the sky.
On and on went the little procession, up between pines and birches and maples, where bushes hung thick with ripening berries, and finally into the open, leaving weather-worn farmhouses on right and left. Rocky pastures where herds were feeding, orchards whose trees bent with their burden of green fruit, meadows yellow with “butter and eggs” and kingcups; these came into view and disappeared.
“There is the site of the old town,” said Polly, waving her hand toward a field of tall grass on her right. “Nearly one hundred years ago Overlook was moved down into the valley, and small stones mark the location of its principal buildings. See that monument over there? That is where the court-house stood. Haven’t you noticed, along the roadside, occasional little numbered granite stones?”
“Yes, and I wondered what they were for,” answered Dr. Abbe.
“Each marks the site of some house; it tells on the monument what they were.”
Everybody looked until the spot was left well behind and a bungalow came into view.