I saw
every crook in the fence, every rut in the road, every bush and tree
long before we came to it. But six months had I been away, yet in that
time I had lived half my life, and now I was so changed that it seemed
strange to find the valley as fat and full as ever, stretched out there
in the sunshine in a quiet, smiling slumber.
"Things are just the same, Mark, you'll notice," said Tim, pointing to
a hole in the flooring of the bridge over which we were passing.
The valley had been driving around that same danger spot these ten
years. There was a world of meaning to the returning wanderer in that
broken plank, and it was not hard to catch the glance of my brother's
eye and to know his mind.
Henry Holmes on the front seat, driving, caught the inflection of Tim's
voice and cried testily: "You are allus runnin' the walley down. Why
don't you tell him about the improvements instead of pintin' out the
bad spots in the road?"
"Improvements?" said I, in a tone of inquiry.
"Theop Jones has bought him a new side-bar buggy," replied the old man.
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