Why?
He could not tell.

A queer, invincible repugnance to cross that stile suddenly came over him.

The meadow looked fresh and green, and the road--hot, dusty, and white--was certainly not alluring; besides, he longed to saunter along the grass by the river and think over his experiences.

But something prevented him.

With a sense of irritation he took a few steps along the road; then the thought of the cool field reasserted itself, and with a determined effort he retraced his steps and threw one leg over the top bar of the stile.