utes. When the large hand of his watch had quite accomplished its
journey, he turned and walked out through the yard to the side door of
the house. Melora Meigs was clattering dish-pans somewhere beyond, and
the noise she made covered his entrance to the living-room. He drew a
deep breath: they were not there. He listened at the stairs: no sound up
there--no sound, at least, to rise above Melora's dish-pans, now a
little less audible. But this time he was not going to wait--for
anything. He already had one foot on the stairs when he heard voices and
stopped. For just one second he paused, then walked cat-like in the
direction of the sounds. The front door was open. On the step stood
Kathleen Somers, her back to him, facing the horizon. A light shawl hung
on her shoulders, and the nurse's arm was very firmly round her waist.
They did not hear him, breathing heavily there in the hall behind them.

He saw Kathleen Somers raise her arm slowly--with difficulty, it seemed.
She pointed at the noble shoulder of a mountain.

"That is Habakkuk," said her sweet voice. "I named them all, you know.
But I think Habakkuk is my favorite; though of course he's not so
stunning as Isaiah. Then they run down to Obadiah and Malachi. Joel is
just peeping over Habakkuk's left shoulder. That long bleak range is
Jeremiah." She laughed, very faintly. "You know, Miss Willis, they are
really very beautiful. Isn't it strange, I couldn't see it? For I
honestly couldn't. I've been lying there, thinking. And I found I could
remember all their outlines, under snow ... and this morning it seemed
to me I must see how Habakkuk looked in the spring." She sat down
suddenly on the top step; and Miss Willis sat down too, her arm still
about her patient.

"It's very strange"--Withrow, strain though he did, could hardly make
out the words, they fell so softly--"that I just couldn't see it before.
It's only these last days.... And now I feel as if I wanted to see every
leaf on every tree. It wasn't so last year. They say something to me
now. I don't think I should want to talk with them forever, but you've
no idea--you've no idea--how strange and welcome it is for my eyes to
find them beautiful." She seemed almost to murmur to herself. Then she
braced herself slightly against the nurse's shoulder, and went on, in
her light, sweet, ironic voice. "They probably never told you--but I
didn't care for Nature, exactly. I don't think I care for it now, as
some people