We are going to my country seat in
Lebanon."
'I rubbed my eyes, and fetched 'em out of the "Buck" stables.
Red Jacket was there saddling his, and when I'd packed the
saddle-bags we three rode up Race Street to the Ferry by starlight.
So we went travelling. It's a kindly, softly country there, back of
Philadelphia among the German towns, Lancaster way. Little
houses and bursting big barns, fat cattle, fat women, and all as
peaceful as Heaven might be if they farmed there. Toby sold
medicines out of his saddlebags, and gave the French war-news to
folk along the roads. Him and his long-hilted umberell was as
well known as the stage-coaches. He took orders for that famous
Seneca Oil which he had the secret of from Red Jacket's Indians,
and he slept in friends' farmhouses, but he would shut all the
windows; so Red Jacket and me slept outside. There's nothing to
hurt except snakes - and they slip away quick enough if you
thrash in the bushes.'
'I'd have liked that!' said Dan.
'I'd no fault to find with those days. In the cool o' the morning
the cat-bird sings. He's something to listen to. And there's a smell
of wild grape-vine growing in damp hollows which you drop
into, after long rides in the heat, which is beyond compare for
sweetness.
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