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He wore the sober garb of a dominic, and his face, above his tie of white lawn, displayed shrewd and complete appreciation of the occasion. He took off his hat and bowed low when Colonel Wincott's party passed under the arch.
"You have seen the parade, some of it?" "I saw a great deal of it, sir." "And you don't know where it's headed for?" "No." The colonel leaned back and regarded the Squire with the satisfied contentment of a cat who had tucked away the last morsel of the canary. Then he winked at Vaniman. "Young man, did you ever hear of Wincott's Pure Rye?" "No, sir." "Glad of it!
The sun was burning away the mists when Colonel Wincott's turnout topped a hill; he waved his whip to invite the attention of his passengers. "There she lies, folks! I've been calling it my town. From now on it's our town. Some daisy on the breast of nature, eh?" There was a lake on the facets of whose ripples the sunlight danced. White water tumbled down cascades.
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