By late Afternoon they had travelled ten of the twelve miles between
Bethel and Laurel. Half a mile this side of Laurel lay the old Goree
place; a mile or two beyond the village lived the Coltranes. The road
was now steep and laborious, but the compensations were many. The
tilted aisles of the forest were opulent with leaf and bird and bloom.
The tonic air put to shame the pharmacopaeia. The glades were dark
with mossy shade, and bright with shy rivulets winking from the ferns
and laurels. On the lower side they viewed, framed in the near
foliage, exquisite sketches of the far valley swooning in its opal
haze.
Coltrane was pleased to see that his companion was yielding to the
spell of the hills and woods. For now they had but to skirt the base
of Painter's Cliff; to cross Elder Branch and mount the hill beyond,
and Goree would have to face the squandered home of his fathers. Every
rock he passed, every tree, every foot of the rocky way, was familiar
to him. Though he had forgotten the woods, they thrilled him like the
music of "Home, Sweet Home."
They rounded the cliff, descended into Elder Branch, and paused there
to let the horses drink and splash in the swift water. On the right
was a rail fence that cornered there, and followed the road and
stream.
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