He thought he had better make sure.

Conrad Lagrange, assenting, went through the gate and down the road, with the four-footed members of the party; and Czar must have thought that there was something very funny about old Croesus that morning, from the way his master laughed; when they were safely around the first turn.
There was, of course, no material thing in the spring glade that the artist wanted.

_He_ knew that--quite as well as his laughing friend.

Under the mistletoe oak, at the top of the bank, he paused, hesitating--as one will often pause when about to enter a sacred building.

Softly, he pushed open the old gate, as he might have pushed open the door of a church.
Slowly, reverently, he went down the path; baring his head as he went.