There was a hard-beaten road, and the hills seemed standing back and holding aside their skirts for a free passing.
The sun lay warm on their green slopes, and one could fairly smell the grass growing.

In the hollows were worlds of blue flowers, with patches here and there a royal purple.

I stopped and gathered a handful and stuck them in my buttonhole and under my hatband.

I don't know when I have felt so thoroughly satisfied with said Ellis Carleton--of whom I am overfond of speaking--I even mimicked the meadow-larks, until they watched me with heads tilted, not knowing what to make of such an impertinent fellow.
King's Highway was glorious; I didn't wonder that dad thought it worth fighting over, and as I went on, farther and farther down this lane made by nature for easy passing, I could see what an immense advantage it would be to take herds through that way.

I could see why the Bay State men cursed King when they took the rough trail around the end of White Divide.
After an hour of undisputed riding on this forbidden trail, the pass narrowed rather abruptly till it was not more than a furlong in width; the hills stretched their heads still higher, as if they wanted to see the fun, and the shadow of the eastern rim laid clear across the narrow valley and touched the foot of the opposite slope.