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Chapter XIII
Pastures New
Steve had arrived at the Connecticut shack in the early dawn of the
day which had been so eventful to most of his friends and
acquaintances. William Bannister's interest in the drive, at first
acute, had ceased after the first five miles, and he had passed the
remainder of the journey in a sound sleep from which the stopping of
the car did not awaken him.
Steve jumped down and stretched himself. There was a wonderful
freshness in the air which made him forget for a moment his desire for
repose. He looked about him, breathing deep draughts of its coolness.
The robins which, though not so well advertised, rise just as
punctually as the lark, were beginning to sing as they made their
simple toilets before setting out to attend to the early worm. The sky
to the east was a delicate blend of pinks and greens and yellows, with
a hint of blue behind the grey which was still the prevailing note.
A vaguely sentimental mood came upon Steve. In his heart he knew
perfectly well that he could never be happy for any length of time out
of sight and hearing of Broadway cars; but at that moment, such was the
magic of the dawn, he felt a longing to settle down in the country and
pass the rest of his days a simple farmer with beard unchecked by
razor. He saw himself feeding the chickens and addressing the pigs by
their pet names, while Mamie, in a cotton frock, called cheerfully to
him to come in because breakfast was ready and getting cold.
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