CHAPTER III
DOWN THE WINDING RIVER
A fortnight later David set out early one morning for Boston to make purchases. Warm and dry weather had made fit the soil for ploughing and tilling, and Nathan Lindall and Obid were up to their necks in work, and of the household David could best be spared. He was to lodge overnight with his Uncle William Elkins and return on the morrow. The sun was just showing above the trees to the eastward when he left the house and made his way along the path that led to the river. He wore his best doublet, as was befitting the occasion, but for the rest had clothed himself for the journey rather than for the visit in the town. His musket lay in the hollow of his arm and a leather bag slung about his shoulder held both ammunition and food.
His spirits were high as he left the clearing behind and entered the winding path through the forest of pines and hemlocks, maples and beeches. The sunlight filtered through the upper branches and laid a pattern of pale
