And as I trudged on between the bright hedgerows, and heard the
song of birds all about me, and felt the warm sunbeams on my face,
I began to exult in my youth and strength, and the words of a song
from one of my father's play books came to my mind, and I hummed
them aloud:
A merry heart goes all the day,
A sad tires in a mile a.
About half a mile out of Harley, the road makes a long ascent to
the market town of Much Wenlock. I was pretty warm by the time I
arrived there, and mighty hungry, so I repaired to the inn where my
father was wont to eat on market days, and where I had several
times been with him, and ordered a dinner of bread and cheese and
ale. The innkeeper, Mr. Appleby, was not a little surprised to see
me, and was fairly staggered when I told him I was off to Bristowe
to seek my fortune. To the stay-at-home folk of the countryside
Bristowe was as distant as Brazil, and he would have heard that I
was starting for the ends of the earth with but little more
amazement.
"Betsy," he called through the half-open door into the little
parlor behind, "here be young Master Bold a setting off to
Bristowe."
"Bless us!" cried his wife, bustling out, and bringing with her an
odor of roast meat that somewhat slacked my appetite for bread and
cheese. "Deary me! You doesn't say so now! Well, to be sure! 'Tis a
fearsome long way, by all accounts; but there, you be growed a
great big chap, Master Bold, and I'm sure I wish 'ee good luck.
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