anxious. Three junks were out somewhere at sea, in that storm. The girl
lay there in the dark. Her sweetheart on board, it would be in a Western
story; but these were only her friends, and kin, and townsmen, that were
at stake. So she lay there in the hut, you see, and couldn't rest. And
then it seemed to her, in the dark, that she was swimming out through
the storm, out and out, and not in the least afraid. She had become
larger, and more powerful, somehow, than the rain, or the dark, or the
whole ocean; for when she came upon the junks tossing there, she took
one in each hand, the third in her mouth, and began to swim for home.
Just retrieved 'em, you know. But then across the storm she heard her
mother calling in the dark, and had to open her mouth to answer. So she
lost that junk."

"Well, then her spirit was back in the hut. But next day the two junks
came in; the third one, never. And for that dream, she was made, after
her death, the great and merciful Queen of Heaven."

As Heywood ended, they were entering a pastoral village, near the town,
but hidden low under great trees, ancient and widely gnarled.

"You told that," said Miss Drake, "as though it had really happened."

"If you believe, these things have reality; if not, they have none." His
gesture, as he repeated the native maxim, committed him to neither side.

Miss Drake looked back toward the hills.

"Her dream was play, compared to--some."

"That," he answered, "is abominably true."

The curt, significant tone made her glance at him quickly. In her dark
eyes there was no impatience, but only trouble.

"We do better," she said, "when we are both busy."

He nodded, as though reluctantly agreeing, not so much to the words as
to the silence which followed.

The evening peace, which lay on the fields and hills, had flooded even
the village streets. Without pause, without haste, the endless labor of
the day went on as quiet as a summer cloud. Meeting or overtaking,
coolies passed in single file, their bare feet slapping the enormous
flags of antique, sunken granite, their twin baskets bobbing and
creaking to the rhythm of their wincing trot. The yellow muscles rippled
strongly over straining ribs, as with serious faces, and slant eyes
intent on their path, they chanted in pairs the ageless refrain, the
call and answer which make burdens lighter:--

"O heh!--O ha?
O ho ho!
O heh!--O ha?
O ho ho!"

From hidden places sounded the whir of