the road coming back from the Patriarch's cottage. It was a cheery afternoon, warm and balmy and bright—everything was cheery. The farmers, their vocations for the moment changed, waved their whips at him and shouted friendly pleasantries as they drove by with those who were unable to make the trip from the Patriarch's unaided.
Madison began to experience a strange, exhilarating sense of uplift upon him, a sort of rather commendatory and gratified feeling with himself. Marvin had hit it pretty nearly right with his "clean-wholesomeness" idea—it kind of made one feel good to be a part of it. Madison, for the time being, relegated Helena and his immediate mission to a secondary place in his thoughts.
Young girls, young men, middle-aged men, elderly women, all ages of both sexes he passed as he went along; some alone, some in couples, some in little groups, some on crutches, some in wheel-chairs, some walking without extraneous aid—he had turned into the woods now, and he could see them strewn out all along the wagon track under the cool, interlacing branches overhead.
Now he stepped aside to let a wagon pass him, and answered the farmer's call and the smile of the occupants in kind; now some one stopped to tell him again the story of the afternoon—there had been cures that day and the Patriarch had come amongst them. Some laughed, some sang a little, softly, to themselves—all smiled—all spoke in glad, hopeful words, clean words—there seemed no base thought in any mind, only that
