Before they got
to Lake Fryken it began to grow dusky, and they lit in a little wet
morass on a wooded hill. The morass was certainly a good night quarter
for the wild geese, but the boy thought it dismal and rough, and wished
for a better sleeping place. While he was still high in the air, he had
noticed that below the ridge lay a number of farms, and with great haste
he proceeded to seek them out.
They were farther away than he had fancied and several times he was
tempted to turn back. Presently the woods became less dense, and he came
to a road skirting the edge of the forest. From it branched a pretty
birch-bordered lane, which led down to a farm, and immediately he
hastened toward it.
First the boy entered a farm yard as large as a city marketplace and
enclosed by a long row of red houses. As he crossed the yard, he saw
another farm where the dwelling-house faced a gravel path and a wide
lawn. Back of the house there was a garden thick with foliage. The
dwelling itself was small and humble, but the garden was edged by a row
of exceedingly tall mountain-ash trees, so close together that they
formed a real wall around it. It appeared to the boy as if he were
coming into a great, high-vaulted chamber, with the lovely blue sky for
a ceiling. The mountain-ash were thick with clusters of red berries, the
grass plots were still green, of course, but that night there was a full
moon, and as the bright moonlight fell upon the grass it looked as white
as silver.
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