How it begins
THE meadow and the adjoining woodlot were just right for valiant knights and fair ladies that springy Saturday afternoon. The meadow, soft and green and open, was right for the pavilion where the jousting match could take place,—the big beech tree at the far, sun-rising end made such a delightful canopy over the king’s judgment throne—and then after the bout, and the victorious knight was sent forth to do battle with the dragon, there was no more mysterious lurking place for a coily, fire-breathing beast than the shadowy woodlot with its thick thimble berry thicket; its black cave under the drippy spring-shelf, and its close-grown oaks and maples.
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