Dan was conscious, too, of a sense of freedom—of a broader, fuller life than he had ever known. Through the old Doctor's timely words, setting his thoughts into new channels, he had come out of his painful experience with a certain largeness of vision that made him stronger. He had found himself. He did not know yet what he would do; he had plans dimly formed, but nothing fixed. What did it matter? Somewhere he felt his garden waited for him; he would find his work. He was free from the deadening influence of the cast-iron monument and that, for the moment, was enough. So far as his Corinthian ministry was concerned only one shadow, out of all the dark cloud of his troubled experience remained. When that was lifted he would turn his back upon Corinth forever, but until then he did not feel free to go.
They were lying on the grassy bank of a woodland pasture, where a herd of cattle grazed or lay contentedly in the shade of the scattered trees.
"Heigh-ho," said the Doctor, "I believe I will go with you, lad."
For some time they had been silent and it was almost as though the old man had spoken to his companion's thoughts.
"Go where?" asked Dan, turning over on his side and half-raising himself on his elbow.
"Why home to Mutton Hollow, of course. You'll be leaving pretty soon now,
I reckon."
"I suppose so," mused Dan vaguely. "But I'm not going home."
The old Doctor sat up. "Not going home!"
Dan smiled. "Not just yet," he answered. "I want to run about a little first."
"Uh-huh," the Doctor nodded. "Want to get your hair dry and your shirt on right side out before you face the folks."