hill of Washington Park, a hill that is surrounded by many wooded ridges.
The people come running from everywhere to watch. Here indeed will be a
Crowd Picture with as many phases as a stormy ocean. Flying machines
appear from the Fair Ground north of the city, and circle round and round
as they go up, trying to reach the slowly descending plummet.

* * * * *

At last, while the throng cheers, one bird-man has attained it. He brings
back his message that the gift is an image, covered loosely with a
wrapping that seems to be of spun gold. Now the many aviators whirl round
the descending wonder, like seagulls playing about a ship's mast. Soon,
amid an awestruck throng, the image is on the hillock. The golden chains,
and the giant children holding them there above, have melted into threads
of mist and nothingness. The shining wrapping falls away. The people look
upon a seated statue of marble and gold. There is a branch of
wrought-gold maple leaves in her hands. Then beside the image is a
fluttering transfigured presence of which the image seems to be a
representation. This spirit, carrying a living maple branch in her hand,
says to the people: "Men and Women of Springfield, this carving is the
Lady Springfield sent by your Lord from Heaven. Build no canopy over her.
Let her ever be under the prairie-sky. Do her perpetual honor." The
messenger, who is the soul and voice of Springfield, fades into the
crowd, to emerge on great and terrible occasions.

This is only one story. Round this public event let the photoplay
romancer weave what tales of private fortune he will, narratives bound up
with the events of that October day, as the story of Nathan and Naomi is
woven into Judith of Bethulia.

Henceforth the city officers are secular priests of Our Lady Springfield.
Their failure in duty is a profanation of her name. A yearly pledge of
the first voters is taken in her presence like the old Athenian oath of
citizenship. The seasonal pageants march to the statue's feet, scattering
flowers. The important outdoor festivals are given on the edge of her
hill. All the roads lead to her footstool. Pilgrims come from the Seven
Seas to look upon her face that is carved by Invisible Powers. Moreover,
the living messenger that is her actual soul appears in dreams, or
visions of the open day, when the days are dark for the city, when her
patriots are irresolute, and her children are put to shame. This sp