The pudgy man made an obviously
herculean struggle and a meal was prepared. As he was drinking his cup
of coffee, he suddenly spilled it and swore. The little man was
wandering off.
"He's gone to look at that hole," cried the pudgy man.
The little man went to the edge of the pine-plumed hillock, and, sitting
down, began to make smoke and regard the door to the forest. There was
stillness for an hour. Compact clouds hung unstirred in the sky. The
pines stood motionless, and pondering.
Suddenly the little man slapped his knees and bit his tongue. He stood
up and determinedly filled his pipe, rolling his eye over the bowl to
the doorway. Keeping his eyes fixed he slid dangerously to the foot of
the hillock and walked down the wagon ruts. A moment later he passed
from the noise of the sunshine to the gloom of the woods.
The green portals closed, shutting out live things. The little man
trudged on alone.
Tall tangled grass grew in the roadway, and the trees bended obstructing
branches. The little man followed on over pine-clothed ridges and down
through water-soaked swales. His shoes were cut by rocks of the
mountains, and he sank ankle-deep in mud and moss of swamps. A curve
just ahead lured him miles.
Finally, as he wended the side of a ridge, the road disappeared from
beneath his feet. He battled with hordes of ignorant bushes on his way
to knolls and solitary trees which invited him.
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