The road was hot and dusty; but, nevertheless, it allured. Beginning in the hopeless ugliness of a small town's main street, it turned a corner at the postoffice and wandered forth, lazily, at its own capricious will. It widened for a moment at a group of overhanging willows, as though to rest in the fragrant shade, paused where the little stream crooned in the grass, went beside it for a time, then crossed it upon a wooden bridge, and climbed upward toward the cool green hills.
In its nature the road was opposed to things that hurried. To the care-free foot of the traveler who had plenty of time, it yielded a gentle acceptance and even gave some sort of sympathetic response. A swift step was annoying. A dog that ran would find himself very thirsty by the time it reached the brook, a horse and cart would stir up definite resentment, and the daring motor car that intruded upon the road with discordant wheezing would swiftly be mantled and choked by revengeful dust.