briskly under
"Fathers in Israel"; the elderly sisters gazed proudly aloft to "Mothers
in Israel." Then came a company of young men whose banner announced them
as "Defenders of Zion." They were followed by a company of maidens led
by Matilda Wright, striving to be not too much elated, and whose banner
bore the inscription, "Daughters of Zion." At the last came the
children, openly set up by the occasion, and big-eyed with importance,
the boy who carried their banner, "The Hope of Israel," going with
wonderful rigidity, casting not so much as an eye either to right or
left.

But Prudence had not been in this triumphal column, nor was she among
any of the women who stood with children in their arms, or who rushed to
the doors with sleeves rolled up and a long spoon or fork in their
hands.

Then all at once a great inspiration came to Follett. When the last
dusty little white-dressed girl had trudged solemnly by, and the head of
the procession was already winding down the lane that led to Elder
Wardle's place, he called himself a fool and turned back. He walked like
a man who has suddenly remembered that which he should not have
forgotten. And yet he had remembered nothing at all. He had only thought
of a possibility, but one that became more plausible with every step;
especially when he reached the Rae house and found it deserted. Whenever
he thought of his stupidity, which was every score of steps, he would
break into a little trot that made the willows along the creek on his
left run into a yellowish green blur.

He was breathing hard by the time he had made the last ascent and stood
in the cool shade of the comforting pines. He waited until his pulse
became slower, wiping his forehead with the blue neckerchief which
Prudence had suggested that she liked to see him wear in place of the
one of scarlet. When he had cooled and calmed himself a little, he
stepped lightly on. Around the big rock he went, over the "down timber"
beyond it, up over the rise down which the waters tumbled, and then
sharply to the right where their nook was, a call to her already on his
lips.

But she was not there. He could see the place at a glance. Nothing below
met his eye but the straight red trunks of the pines and the brown
carpet beneath them. A jay posed his deep shining blue on a cluster of
scarlet sumac, and, cocking his crested head, screamed at him mockingly.
The canon's cool breath fanned him and the pine-tops sighed and sang. A