rames,
their branches the strings, the winds the musicians. When the air is
cold and clear, the world very white, and the harp music swelling, then
the talking trees tell the strengthening, uplifting things."

"You wonderful girl!" cried Philip. "What a woman you will be!"

"If I am a woman at all worth while, it will be because I have had such
wonderful opportunities," said Elnora. "Not every girl is driven to
the forest to learn what God has to say there. Here are the remains
of Freckles's room. The time the Angel came here he sang to her, and I
listened. I never heard music like that. No wonder she loved him. Every
one who knew him did, and they do yet. Try that log, it makes a fairly
good seat. This old store box was his treasure house, just as it's now
mine. I will show you my dearest possession. I do not dare take it home
because mother can't overcome her dislike for it. It was my father's,
and in some ways I am like him. This is the strongest."

Elnora lifted the violin and began to play. She wore a school dress of
green gingham, with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. She seemed a part
of the setting all around her. Her head shone like a small dark sun, and
her face never had seemed so rose-flushed and fair. From the instant she
drew the bow, her lips parted and her eyes turned toward something far
away in the swamp, and never did she give more of that impression of
feeling for her notes and repeating something audible only to her.
Philip was too close to get the best effect. He arose and stepped back
several yards, leaning against a large tree, looking and listening
intently.

As he changed positions he saw that Mrs. Comstock had followed them,
and was standing on the trail, where she could not have helped hearing
everything Elnora had said.

So to Philip before her and the mother watching on the trail, Elnora
played the Song of the Limberlost. It seemed as if the swamp hushed all
its other voices and spoke only through her dancing bow. The mother out
on the trail had heard it all, once before from the girl, many times
from her father. To the man it was a revelation. He stood so stunned he
forgot Mrs. Comstock. He tried to realize what a city audience would
say to that music, from such a player, with a similar background, and he
could not imagine.

He was wondering what he dared say, how much he might express, when
the last note fell and the girl laid the violin in the case, closed the
door, locked it and