A grizzle of beard edged his chin, a
poor and scanty growth that showed the withered skin through its
sparseness. His face, small and wedge-shaped, was full of ruddy color,
the cheeks above the ragged hair smooth and red as apples. Though his
mouth was deficient in teeth, his neck, rising bare from the band of
his shirt, corrugated with the starting sinews of old age, he had a
shrewd vivacity of glance, an alertness of poise, that suggested an
unimpaired spiritual vitality. He seemed at home behind the mules, and
here, for the first time, David felt was some one who did not look
outside the picture. In fact, he had an air of tranquil acceptance of
the occasion, of adjustment without effort, that made him fit into the
frame better than anyone else of the party.
It was a glorious morning, and as they fared forward through the
checkered shade their spirits ran high. The sun, curious and
determined, pried and slid through every crack in the leafage, turned
the flaked lichen to gold, lay in clotted light on the pools around the
fern roots. They were delicate spring woods, streaked with the white
dashes of the dogwood, and hung with the tassels of the maple.
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