horse as well as the next man and a better one than she I never owned—­never.  I was back in my saddle at six in the afternoon and stopped for feed and an hour’s rest at nine and rode on through the night.  I reached the hamlet of Richville soon after daybreak and put out for a rest of two hours.  I could take it easy then.  At seven o’clock the mare and I started again, well fed and eager to go on.

It was a summer morning that shortens the road—­even that of the young lover.  Its air was sweet with the breath of the meadows.  The daisies and the clover and the cornflowers and the wild roses seemed to be waving a welcome to me and the thorn trees—­shapely ornament of my native hills—­were in blossom.  A cloud of pigeons swept across the blue deep above my head.  The great choir of the fields sang to me—­bobolinks, song sparrows, meadowlarks, bluebirds, warblers, wrens, and far away in the edge of a spruce thicket I heard the flute of the white-throated sparrow in this refrain: 

[Illustration:  Music.]

When, years later, I heard the wedding march in Lohengrin I knew where
Wagner had got his theme.

I bathed at a brook in the woods and put on a clean silk shirt and tie out of my saddlebags.  I rode slowly then to the edge of the village of Canton and turned at the bridge and took the river road, although I had time to spare.  How my heart was beating as I neared the familiar scene!  The river slowed its pace there, like a discerning traveler, to enjoy the beauty of its shores.  Smooth and silent was the water and in it were the blue of the sky and the feathery shadow-spires of cedar and tamarack and the reflected blossoms of iris and meadow rue.  It was a lovely scene.

There was the pine, but where was my lady?  I dismounted and tied my mare and looked at my watch.  It lacked twenty minutes of eleven.  She would come—­I had no doubt of it.  I washed my hands and face and neck in the cool water.  Suddenly I heard a voice I knew singing:  Barney Leave the Girls Alone.  I turned and saw—­your mother, my son[1].  She was in the stern of a birch canoe, all dressed in white with roses in her hair.  I raised my hat and she threw a kiss at me.  Old Kate sat in the bow waving her handkerchief.  They stopped and Sally asked in a tone of playful seriousness: 

[Footnote 1:  These last lines were dictated to his son.]

“Young man, why have you come here?”

“To get you,” I answered.

“What do you want of me?” She was looking at her face in the water.

“I want to marry you,” I answered bravely.

“Then you may help me ashore if you please.  I am in my best, white slippers and you are to be very careful.”

Beautiful!  She was the spirit of the fields of June then and always.

I helped her ashore and held her in my arms and, you know, the lips have a way of speaking then in the old, convincing, final argument of love.  They left no doubt in our hearts, my son.