She must hear about the Sturgis Water Line, and hints of the Maestro, and how wonderful Phil had been, teaching Kirk and all, and how perfectly magnificent Kirk was altogether—a jumbled rigamarole of salvaged motor-boats, reclaimed farm-house, music, somebody's son at sea, and dear knows what else, till Mrs. Sturgis hardly knew whether or not any of this wild dream was verity. Yet the train—and later, the trolley-car—continued to roll through unfamiliar country, and Mrs. Sturgis resigned herself trustfully to her son's keeping.
At the Asquam Station, Hop was drawn up with his antiquated surrey. He wore a sprig of goldenrod in his buttonhole, and goldenrod bobbed over the old horse's forelock.
"Proud day, ma'am," said Hop, as Ken helped his mother into the wagon, "Proud day, I'm sure."
"As if I were a wedding or something," whispered Mrs. Sturgis. "Ken, I'm excited!"
She looked all about at the unwinding view up Winterbottom Road—so familiar to Ken, who was trying to see it all with fresh eyes. They climbed out at the gate of the farm, and Hop turned his beast and departed. Half-way up
