There had grown up between us that summer a bond of sympathy that did not exist between us and the others . We were older than they -- the Story Girl was fifteen and I was nearly that ; and all at once it seemed as if we were immeasurably older than the rest , and possessed of dreams and visions and forward-reaching hopes which they could not possibly share or understand . At times we were still children , still interested in childish things . But there came hours when we seemed to our two selves very grown up and old , and in those hours we talked our dreams and visions and hopes , vague and splendid , as all such are , over together , and so began to build up , out of the rainbow fragments of our childhood 's companionship , that rare and beautiful friendship which was to last all our lives , enriching and enstarring them . For there is no bond more lasting than that formed by the mutual confidences of that magic time when youth is slipping from the sheath of childhood and beginning to wonder what lies for it beyond those misty hills that bound the golden road . `` Where are you going ? '' asked the Story Girl . `` To ` the woods that belt the gray hillside ' -- ay , and overflow beyond it into many a valley purple-folded in immemorial peace , '' answered Uncle Blair . `` I have a fancy for one more ramble in Prince Edward Island woods before I leave Canada again . But I would not go alone . So come , you two gay youthful things to whom all life is yet fair and good , and we will seek the path to Arcady . There will be many little things along our way to make us glad . Joyful sounds will ` come ringing down the wind ; ' a wealth of gypsy gold will be ours for the gathering ; we will learn the potent , unutterable charm of a dim spruce wood and the grace of flexile mountain ashes fringing a lonely glen ; we will tryst with the folk of fur and feather ; we 'll hearken to the music of gray old firs . Come , and you 'll have a ramble and an afternoon that you will both remember all your lives . '' We did have it ; never has its remembrance faded ; that idyllic afternoon of roving in the old Carlisle woods with the Story Girl and Uncle Blair gleams in my book of years , a page of living beauty . Yet it was but a few hours of simplest pleasure ; we wandered pathlessly through the sylvan calm of those dear places which seemed that day to be full of a great friendliness ; Uncle Blair sauntered along behind us , whistling softly ; sometimes he talked to himself ; we delighted in those brief reveries of his ; Uncle Blair was the only man I have ever known who could , when he so willed , `` talk like a book , '' and do it without seeming ridiculous ; perhaps it was because he had the knack of choosing `` fit audience , though few , '' and the proper time to appeal to that audience . We went across the fields , intending to skirt the woods at the back of Uncle Alec 's farm and find a lane that cut through Uncle Roger 's woods ; but before we came to it we stumbled on a sly , winding little path quite by accident -- if , indeed , there can be such a thing as accident in the woods , where I am tempted to think we are led by the Good People along such of their fairy ways as they have a mind for us to walk in . `` Go to , let us explore this , '' said Uncle Blair . `` It always drags terribly at my heart to go past a wood lane if I can make any excuse at all for traversing it : for it is the by-ways that lead to the heart of the woods and we must follow them if we would know the forest and be known of it . When we can really feel its wild heart beating against ours its subtle life will steal into our veins and make us its own for ever , so that no matter where we go or how wide we wander in the noisy ways of cities or over the lone ways of the sea , we shall yet be drawn back to the forest to find our most enduring kinship . ''
`` I always feel so SATISFIED XXXXX the woods , '' said the Story Girl dreamily , as we turned in under the low-swinging fir boughs .
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