e mountains, and the mountains more swiftly to the sky. There were
faint blue mists in the foothills, fainter violet shadows on the
distant fields, an icy whiteness on the peaks; and in the sky no more
than two small puffs of cloud like eiderdown adrift in the depths of
blue. What at first had seemed an utter silence laid upon that summer
landscape had now become, as she looked and listened, a silence full
of sound; of that indefinable humming undertone of nature maturing in
the sun; of insects busy at their harvest; of birds in the distance
calling; of grasses rustling in the breeze; of pines on the long ridge
droning like an organ in the Recessional.

Yes, it was very beautiful, she thought. And sweet. And peaceful. She
had come a long way--halfway across the great continent--to find that
peace. But why should there be a touch of sadness in all that beauty?
And why should there be need to search for her handkerchief to press
against her eyes? For the first time since she had come to Paradise
Park she felt a little lonely, a little doubtful about the wisdom of
her brave revolt.

She sank back at last, and lay curled up in the grass with her head
pillowed on one bent arm. There, to her half-closed eyes, the grass
seemed like a fairy forest, soon peopled by her fancy, the fancy of a
girl who still retained the quick imagination of a child. An Indian
paintbrush flamed at her with barbaric passion; nodding harebells
tinkled purple melodies; and a Mariposa lily with a violet eye seemed
like a knight in white armor, bowing himself into her outstretched
hand. Her eyelids drooped more and more. The music of the pines and
the murmur of the pasture blended in a faint and fading lullaby....

* * * * *

Tuesday's shrill neigh awakened her. She sat up shivering, for the
warm air was underlaid with cold; and quivering, for the alarm had
fallen pat upon the climax of her dream. She rubbed her eyes, a little
blinded by the sunlight, and saw that Tuesday stood with head high and
nostrils distended, gazing past her toward the upper end of the
pasture. She was not surprised, being yet under the spell of her
dream-fairyland, to see a horseman galloping straight toward her. If
not the white knight, then--For some seconds she stared, awakening
slowly; and smiled at length at her childish fancy. It was only a
cowboy, doubtless, riding upon his own prosaic business. And yet--She
became gradually a