est. The years like
minutes fled between those trees, dynasties might fall during the singing
of a bird. I think the thing that haunted the wood was a thing exactly as
old and as romantic as the first child that tracked its Secret Friend
across the floor of a forest.

Oh, friend of childlike mind, what is it that these two years have taken
from us, what is it that we have lost, oh friend, besides contentment?

All the way home Kew sang very loudly the first tune he ever knew.

When the Family (including Mr. Russell) got back to the inn, the lamb and
the gooseberry tart and Cousin Gustus were all waiting for them. But they
were delayed in the hall. A stout young woman with a pleasant face of
small vocabulary turned from the visitors' book and stopped Mrs. Gustus.

"Are you THE Mrs. Augustus Martin?" she asked.

"I am she," replied Anonyma. Her grammar in moments of emergency always
impressed Kew.

I cannot say that Mrs. Gustus seemed surprised. She was the sort of
person to hide even from herself the fact that this thing had never
happened before. She remained perfectly calm as if repeating a hackneyed
experience. Kew was astonished. Mr. Russell shared this feeling. Having a
certain personal admiration for Mrs. Gustus, he had tried on more than
one occasion to find pleasure in her books, but without success.

The stout young lady said nothing more than "Oh" for the moment, but she
breathed it in such a manner that Mrs. Gustus saw at once the duty of
asking her to dine with the Family.

When the admirer was introduced to Cousin Gustus, she said, "Oh, so this
is your husband ..." and gazed on that melancholy man with eagerness.
When she saw Mr. Russell's Hound she said, "And this is your dog," and
was about to crown him with a corresponding halo when Mrs. Gustus
disclaimed the connection.

"It is wonderful to meet you, of all people, in this romantic place,"
said the admirer as she pursued her peas. "Do you know, whenever I finish
one of your books, I feel so romantic I want to kiss everybody I meet.
Oh, those courtly heroes of yours!"

A heavy silence fell for a moment.

"And your descriptions of nature," continued the admirer. "That sunset
seen from the west coast of Ireland that you describe in _The Courtship
of Hartley Casey_. You must know Ireland very well."

"I have never been there," said Mrs. Gustus. "I evolve my scenery. After
all, Nature lives in the heart of each one of us. I think we all have a
s