Every moment he felt steal stronger over him a subtle influence which he could not define.

Half unconsciously he tried to analyze it, but it baffled him.

He could no more explain what fascinated him than he could understand what caused the melancholy quiet which hung over the glades and hollows.

He had pictured a real forest so differently from this.

Here was a long lane paved with springy moss and fenced by bright-green sassafras; there a secluded dale, dotted with pale-blue blossoms, over which the giant cottonwoods leaned their heads, jealously guarding the delicate flowers from the sun.