Glover and Hero were ever in earnest talk.
There was with them a never-ending story, and I am reminded of the
everlasting confidences of school girls when I recall their being
together, excepting only that they did not put their arms around each
other's waists.
The Admiral's heart was full of music. He could talk of music, poetry
and love, and there was a tender spot in him that I did not venture on,
although I knew it was there. He was also a deep admirer of nature.
Truly we could sing together, "A life in the woods for me!"
It was three miles to the robbers' rendezvous, but what cared we? We
dwelt in the bosom of nature, and three miles was but a pastime. We
only wanted an excuse of the most feeble kind to start on a tramp, day
or night. All along the way we breathed health and vitality; the air
was full of singing birds, and our hearts were crying out, "What is so
rare as a day in June?" In fact, our June days lasted longer than they
did elsewhere--they ran into September, October and November. It is the
harmony of our hearts that makes the force of poetry, and not the mere
words; and the June feeling may be present in December.
The entrance to Muddy Pond woods was on high ground, and as we
approached it we were a little cautious, for near by was the appointed
place to find the haunt of the robbers.
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