red the inarticulate poetry of his soul! At times he found
himself wondering if their sweeping lines were broken arcs of a
circle drawn by an infinite hand; and anon, he would ask if their
mighty mounds marked the graves of some primeval age--mounds
raised by the gods to the memory of forces long since extinct.

As Matt looked at these hills, there rolled along their summits
snowy cumuli--billowy masses swept from distant cloud tempests,
and now spending their force in flecks of white across the blue
sky-sea that lay peaceful over awakening Rehoboth. A fresh wind
travelled from the gates of the sun, laden with upland sweets, and
mellowing moment by moment under the directer rays of the eastern
king; while the sycamores in the garden, as if in playful protest,
bent before the touch of its caress, only to rise and rustle as,
for the moment, they escaped the haunting and besetting breeze,
lending to their protest the dreamy play of light and shade from
newly-unsheathed leaves. There was a strange silence, too--a
silence that made mystic music in Matt's heart--a silence all the
more profound because of the distant low of oxen, and the strain
of an old Puritan hymn sung by a shepherd in a neighbouring field.
Matt's heart was full, and, though he knew it not, he was a
worshipper--he was in the spirit on the Lord's Day.

'Is that thee, Matt?'

'Yi, lass, for sure it is. Who else should it be, thinksto?'

'Nay, I knew it were noabry but thee; but one mun say summat, thaa
knows. What arto doin' at th' winder? Has th' hens getten in th'
garden agen?'

'Nowe, not as aw con see.'

'Then what arto lookin' at? Thaa seems fair gloppened
(surprised).'

'I'm nobbud lookin' aat a bit. It's a bonny seet and o', I can
tell thee.'

'Thaa's sin' it mony a time afore, lad, hesn't ta? Is there aught
fresh abaat it?'

'There's summat fresh i' mi een, awm thinkin'. Like as I never
seed th' owd country look as grand as it looks this morn.'

'Aw'll hev a look wi' thee, Matt; ther'll happen be summat fresh
for my een and o'.'

And so saying, Miriam crept to his side and, in unblushing
innocence, took her stand at the window with Matt.

It was a comely picture which the little birds saw as they
twittered round and peeped through the ivy-covered casement where
Matt and Miriam stood framed in the morning radiance and in the
glow of domestic love--she with loose tresses lying over her bare
shoulders, all glossy in the sunshine, her he