The doctor did not reply. He gathered his bridle up in his hand. The woman moved around in front of the doctor. “Ain't you goin' to let me feed the horse?” “The horse can stand it just as well as I can,” said the doctor. “But you can help it,” replied the woman, “an' the horse can't help it.” “It won't hurt him to wait till I eat.” “Would it hurt you to wait till he eats?” “It wouldn't do me much good, if anybody was to sec me waitin' here,” said the doctor. A flush of color sprang into the woman's face. “I only wanted to feed him,” she said, “because the School-teacher told me to.” “Get out of my way,” said the doctor. “This School-teacher has interfered with my business just about as much as I'm going to put up with.” He clucked to his horse, and rode around the woman. When he had gone forward a few paces, he made a gesture with his crooked arm. “Is there a path over the mountain this way?” he called without turning in his saddle. “Yes,” replied the woman, “it runs down past the house.” She remained standing by the gate with the crock in her hand. The doctor entered the forest. The colors lying far down the mountain in the sun were like those of an oriental carpet. Soft shades of green, of yellow, of crimson, kneaded into a harmony of low, unobtrusive tones that the sun warmed and illumined. Near at hand, along the path, where the doctor rode, the sumacs stood a dull red, the chestnut bushes yellow, the wild cherry leaves turning on their edges, the oaks crimson like a flame, the water beeches green, the hickory leaves curling on their twigs like shavings of gold. The scene lay out below the doctor in the sun, incomparably painted, but he did not see it. He rode looking down at the pommel of his saddle. Now and then, when the horse stumbled, he brought it up with a wrench of the bit. The horse was tired. It went forward with its head down. Dust lay around its eye-pits. There were gray bands of dried sweat running parallel with the leather of the headstall, and beyond the borders of the saddle blanket. At a turn of the path a dog appeared, his yellow hair rising on his back. As the doctor came on, the dog slowly retreated, growling, holding his place in the road until the horse was almost upon him, then springing hack, his teeth flashing, his eyes on the doctor. The dog did not bark, he made no considerable sound, he refused to attack the horse, but he continued always to menace the approach of the doctor. They passed the spring and came out before the house and the little cornfield. Then the dog began, to bark, and a tiny voice arose. “Ge-out, Nim!” it said. This patch of clearing, lying within the many-colored garden of the forest, seemed illumined with a warmer sunlight. The effect doubtless arose from the carpet of coarse brown fox-grass grown up over the cornfield, into which the sun seemed to enter and remain. Two or three small maple trees, abundantly leaved, stood about, flaming scarlet.