A long drive on a smooth white road, acres of gorse and broom, beech
woods and oak thickets, and the "Heu! heu! Allo! Allons! en route!" of
the Breton driver, these are my recollections of the ride to Faöuet.
There are others, too--the hedges heavy with bloom, the perfume of the
wild honeysuckle, the continual bird chorus from every grove and every
bramble patch--and Sweetheart's veil flying into my face.
We have spoken of it since together, but she has few recollections
of that journey. She only remembers it as her first steps into our
heritage.
And so we entered into our heritage, Sweetheart and I; and our heritage
was very fair, for it lay everywhere about us. It was a world which
we alone inhabited. Men said, "This land is Gloanec's," "This is
Gurnalec's," "This is Kerdec's"; they spoke of "my woods" and "his
meadows" and "their pastures." And how we laughed; for when we passed
together through their lands, around us, far as the eye could reach,
our heritage lay in the sunshine.