The Turn of the Tide
Copyright© 2024 by Eleanor H. Porter
Chapter 14
The big touring car skirted the edge of the town, avoiding as usual the narrower streets, and turning as soon as possible into a wide, elm-bordered avenue.
“We have to climb to reach Hilcrest,” called Frank over his shoulder, as the car began a steep ascent.
“Then you must have a view as a reward,” rejoined Margaret.
“We do,” declared Mrs. Merideth, —”but not here,” she laughed, as the car plunged into the depths of a miniature forest.
It was a silent drive, in the main. The man in front had the car to guide. The two women in the tonneau dropped an occasional word, but for the most part their eyes were fixed on bird or flower, or on the shifting gleams of sunlight through the trees. The very fact that there was no constraint in this silence argued well for the place the orphan girl had already found in the hearts of her two companions.
Not until the top of the hill was reached, and the car swung around the broad curve of the driveway, did the full beauty of the panorama before her burst on Margaret’s eyes. She gave a low cry of delight.
“Oh, how beautiful—how wonderfully, wonderfully beautiful!” she exclaimed.
Her eyes were on the silver sheen of the river trailing along the green velvet of the valley far below—she had turned her back on the red-roofed town with its smoking chimneys.
The sun was just setting when a little later she walked across the lawn to where a rustic seat marked the abrupt descent of the hill. Far below the river turned sharply. On the left it flowed through a cañon of many-windowed walls, and under a pall of smoke. On the right it washed the shores of flowering meadows, and mirrored the sunset sky in its depths.
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