They drove away.
The wanderer was not disposed to minimize the incident, however far he
might fall short of Westley Keyts's appreciation. But he had been long
absent from the Little Country, and the people of to-day were strange
and unimportant. He preferred to revive, as best he might, the days of
his own simple faith in the town's sufficiency; days when the world
beyond the Little Country was but a place from which to order
merchandise, or into which, at the most, adventurous Arcadians dared
brief journeys for profit or a doubtful pleasure; the days of a boy's
Little Arcady, that existed no more save as a wraith in remembering
minds.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Boss of Little Arcady, by Harry Leon Wilson
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