At a distance, steadily approaching, appeared the outlet, light against the dark willow setting.
When it was reached, ensued a rough acclivity, hard for knees and lungs, winding upward for a considerable distance.

Up the runner went, with seemingly untired activity, and the stones and sand spurted from beneath his ascending feet.

The air became drier and warmer again as he mounted, and the meadows slept beneath him in their clammy darkness.
Near the brow of the hill stood a farm-house, black against the sky.
Bressant marked the light through the curtained window, dimly bringing out a transverse strip of road; the pump standing over its trough with uplifted arm and dangling cup; the rambling shed, with the wagon half hidden beneath it; the barn, with blank windowless front, and shingled roof.

A dog barked sharply at him, as he echoed by, but inaudibly to Bressant's ears.

Presently a raised sidewalk divided off from the road, affording a smoother course; the outlying houses of the village slipped past one after another; a white picket-fence twittered indistinguishably by.