But here Miss Van Patten herself interposed.
“It’s too fine a day to drive,” she declared sensibly. “We’ll be back by the time father wakes. Do you want anything at the village?”
“I wouldn’t for the world burden you,” Aunt Philomela answered, coldly.
Which, on the whole, thought Barnes, was a reply unworthy of her.
So it happened that within less than twenty-four hours, Barnes took up the trail again—with a difference. In the first place he no longer carried his portfolio. Moreover he did not miss it. And yet he had not proceeded a hundred yards before he passed material enough to fill it. He gave scarcely a glance at the old patriarchs of apple-trees looking like muscle-knotted dwarfs engaged in the absurd task of supporting green apples no larger than marbles; at the sturdy pines whispering Norwegian sagas, the lithe birches, and the shivering poplars.
“Daddy and I have taken this road so many times. He loves it,” exclaimed Miss Van Patten.
“Of course he does!” he nodded.
She turned her eyes towards him in some amazement at his assurance.
“You understand Daddy so well,” she said.
“The big emotions,” he declared thoughtfully, “make us all of kin. Man-sorrows draw men together as women-sorrows draw women together. Sound us deep enough and all men are brothers, all women sisters. Sound us still deeper and even sex vanishes; we become just comrades.”