Explore "The Black Forge Mills" by William P. Chipman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The fragrant odor of sweet fern, and of pine and hemlock came to Ralph Carleton, the pastor of the First Baptist Church in Afton, as he leaned against the low window sill of his study. As he thus leaned he looked off toward the hills, which rose abruptly just back of the busy town. A heavy rain the night before had refreshed the thirsty earth, and clothed it anew in beauty. A perfect scene was spread before him, and, accustomed as he was to it, it still possessed for him new charms.
Field and grove were green and leafy; the waters of the broad bay sparkled in the sunlight, and the pure balmy air gave an indescribable sense of exhilaration. Morning glories, honeysuckles, and grape vines struggled for supremacy on the high trellis at the side of the tiny garden; roses clambered over the porch, and bud and blossom fairly rioted in profusion. The hum of bees, and the glad song of birds added to the perfection of that early June day, and to the young minister, who drank it all in with keenest enjoyment, there came an irresistible longing to throw aside his books and unfinished sermon for a ramble among the hills.