nd then the cloud passes and the dragons go away.
The sky is always changing. The pictures never last, but new
ones come.

A TALK

What wonderful things come of little talks. I mean the right kind. Whole
lives changed, perhaps by a half-hour's talk, or the same amount of time
spent in reading. Man comes to a point in life, the half-way house, I
have heard it called, when he either takes the right path which leads to
the work that was made for him or he goes the wrong. Oftentimes a short
talk from one who knows will set a man on the right track. One man goes
the wrong way through many a danger and pain and suffering, and finally
wakes up to the right, goes back, tells the others, and saves many from
going the wrong way and passing through the same pain and suffering.

At breakfast this morning we were talking about the universe from the
angels around the throne to the little brown gnomes that work so hard,
flower fairies, and wood and water nymphs and nixies. Such a strange,
wild, delightful feeling comes over me when I hear about the little
brown and green gnomes or think of them. One who does not know the
fairies well would think they were all brothers, but it doesn't seem so
to me. When I think of the green gnomes, a picture always comes of a
whole lot of beautiful springy-looking bushes. I can always see the
green gnomes through the bushes. They pay no attention to me, but just
go right on laughing and talking by themselves. But when I think of
brown gnomes a very different picture comes. It is Fall then, and leaves
are on the ground and brown men are working so hard and so fast their
hands and feet are just a blur. They give you a smile if you truly love
them. But that is all, for they are working hard.

If one were well and could master his body in every way, he would be
able to see plainly the white lines which connect everything together,
and the crowns that are on the heads of the ones who deserve them. And
one could see the history of a stone, a tree, or any _old_ thing.

What wonderful stories there would be in an old Beech tree that has
stood in the same place for more than a hundred years, and has seen all
the wonders that came that way. Their upper branches are always looking
up, and so at night they would see all the Sleep-bodies that pass that
woods. The beech trees would make the old witches feel so good and happy
by fanning them with their leaves and shading them that the witches
would