Village books

The next
morning I went out alone, for a ride, in a direction where I thought I
could not be disturbed. Up hill and down, over roads, pastures, and
streams, I tore until the fever within was allayed, and then I stopped
to rest, and look upon the beauties of the bright October day. All
overhead and around, the sky and patches of water were of that
far-looking blue which seems all ready to open upon new and wonderful
worlds. Big, bright drops of a night-shower lay asleep in the curled-up
leaves, as though the trees had stretched out a million hands to catch
them. And such hands! What comparison could match them? Clouds of
butterflies, such as sleep among the flowers of Paradise,--forgotten
dreams of children, who sleep and smile,--fancies of fairy laureates,
strung shining together for some high festival,--anything most rich or
unreal, might furnish a type for the foliage that was painted upon the
golden blue of that October day. I could almost have forgotten my
trouble in the charmed gaze.
"You turn up in strange places, Rachel!" said a voice behind me.


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