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V. The Black Wood by Day

           Soheslantedtohisrightthroughtheopencoppice,meaningtoreachthevalleyfloornearthefootofthepathwhichledtotheGreenshiel.

           Thecoppicewasthickerthanhehadimagined.Thiswasnohillsidescrub,butaforest,agreenwood,withitsowngladesandhollows,itsownminiatureglensandstreams.Hewasinthemidstofsmallbirdswhomadeacheerfultwitteringfromthegreeningboughs,cushatstoowerebusy,andthethicketswerefulloffriendlybeasts.Hesawtherussetbackofadeerasitbrokecover,andthetawnystreakofahill-fox,andtherewasaperpetualscurryingofrabbits.Abovealltherewasagloryofprimroses.Thepaleblossomsstarredthegladesandthesidesofthedells,clungtotree-roots,andclimbedintocranniesofthegreywhinstonerock.Sothicktheywere,thattheirpalenessbecamegolden,thefirststrongcolourhehadseenthatday.Davidwasyoungandhisheartwaslight,sohegatheredagreatclumpofbloomsforhismansetable,andsetabouquetinhiscoatandanotherinhisbonnet.Theselatterwouldhavetogobeforehereachedthehighway,ortheparishwouldthinkthatitsministerhadgonedaft.Buthereinthesecretgreenwoodhecouldforgetdecorumandbedeckhimselflikeachild.

           Presentlyhehadforgottentheroutehehadplanned.HefoundhimselfinashallowgladewhichrantotheleftandawayfromtheGreenshiel,anddownwhichleapedaburnsoentrancinginitsmadcapgracethathecouldnotchoosebutfollowit.

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