r-cress in full flower;
faint blurred white of thousands of the heath-bedstraw's tiny blossoms.
Phoebe in her white gown sprang onto swaying tussocks and picked
plumes of cotton-grass to trim herself a garden hat, and Ishmael
steadied her passage.

"Oh, Ishmael, I'm so glad you've come back!" she told him, lifting a
glowing face, haloed by the rose-lined hat that had slipped to her
shoulders and was only held in place by a pink velvet ribbon which was
not softer than the throat it barred.

"It's often dull here," she ran on. "There's not many people I care
about going with since I came back from boarding school, and even for
those I do go with Vassie spoils it by saying I'm demeaning myself.
She's such a fine lady."

"And aren't you?" asked Ishmael, laughing; "that was my first thought
when I saw you, anyway."

"Was it?" She dimpled with pleasure, but added shrewdly: "I'm not one,
though. I like getting away from it all and working in the dairy and
looking after the tiny calves. I like that best of all, that and my baby
chickens. But Vassie's only happy when she's dressed up and paying
visits."

"I like your way best," he assured her, thinking what a jolly little
thing she was after all. But Phoebe's mind could not keep its
attention on any one theme for more than a minute, and her eyes and
thoughts were wandering. Suddenly she gave a little cry.

"Oh, look at those beauties! I must have them!" And she pointed to
where, on a vividly green patch of marsh, a whole grove of cotton-grass
stood up in the glow of the setting sun. The golden light poured through
the silky tufts, making of each a flake of fire, all raining at the same
slight slope from hair-fine stems. Against the turf they looked for all
the world like Chinese lanterns swung for some miniature revel of the
fairies--they seemed literally to diffuse light upon the air. Ishmael
stood staring, stung to excitement by that suddenly-glimpsed beauty; but
Phoebe darted forward, and the next moment had withdrawn a foot whose
stout country shoe and white stocking were dripping greenly.

"Here, let me!" cried Ishmael; but she waved him back.

"No, you're too heavy; you'd go through at once. Hold my hand while I
lean over;" and she swung outwards from his grasp, her other hand
stretching vainly.

"Best leave that lot," advised Ishmael; "there's some much easier to get
at just along there."

She turned her head, body still swung forward, and followed the line o