I
The fiery disk of the sun was just lifting above the shoulder of hills
that held the city of Stenton when the Greenstream stage rolled briskly
from its depot, a dingy frame tavern, and commenced the long journey to
its high destination. The tavern was on the outskirts of town; beyond, a
broad, level plain reached to a shimmering blue silhouette of mountains
printed on a silvery sky; and the stage immediately left the paved street
for the soft, dusty country road. Stenton was not yet astir; except for an
occasional maid sleepily removing the milk from gleaming marble steps, or
early workmen with swollen, sullen countenances, the streets were
deserted. The dewy freshness of morning was already lost in the rapidly
mounting heat of the June day. Above the blackened willows that half hid
the waterworks an oily column of smoke wavered upward in slow, thick
coils, mingling with the acid odor of ammonia from a neighboring ice
manufacturing plant; a locomotive whistled harsh and persistent; the heat
vibrated in visible fans above the pavement.
From the vantage point of the back porches of Stenton the sluggish maids
could see the Greenstream stage fast diminishing. The dust rose and
enveloped it, until it appeared to be a ball, gilded by the sun, rolling
over the rank grey-green plain. Finally it disappeared from the vision of
the awakening city.