here, all along the borders of the vapoury wall, I set box-traps for
the lithe little denizens of the fire, baiting every trap with a handful
of fresh, sweet clover which I had pulled up from the pasture beyond the
cornfield.

My task ended, I ascended the slope again, and for a while stood there
immersed in pleasurable premonitions.

Everything had been accomplished swiftly and methodically within
the few hours in which I had first set eyes upon this extraordinary
place--everything!--love at first sight, the delightfully lightning-like
wooing and winning of an incomparable maiden and heiress; the discovery
of the fire creatures; the solving of the emerald problem.

And now everything was ready, crow-traps, fire-traps, a bucket of
irresistible salad for Blythe, a modest and tremulous avowal for Wilna as
soon as her father tasted the salad and I had pleasantly notified him of
my intentions concerning his lovely offspring.

Daylight faded from rose to lilac; already the mountains were growing
fairy-like under that vague, diffuse lustre which heralds the rise of the
full moon. It rose, enormous, yellow, unreal, becoming imperceptibly
silvery as it climbed the sky and hung aloft like a stupendous arc-light
flooding the world with a radiance so white and clear that I could very
easily have written verses by it, if I wrote verses.

Down on the edge of the forest I could see Blythe on his camp-stool,
madly besmearing his moonlit canvas, but I could not see Wilna anywhere.
Maybe she had shyly retired somewhere by herself to think of me.

So I went back to the house, filled a bucket with my salad, and started
toward the edge of the woods, singing happily as I sped on feet so light
and frolicsome that they seemed to skim the ground. How wonderful is the
power of love!

When I approached Blythe he heard me coming and turned around.

"What the devil do _you_ want?" he asked with characteristic civility.

"I have brought you," said I gaily, "a bucket of salad."

"I don't want any salad!"

"W-what?"

"I never eat it at night."

I said confidently:

"Mr. Blythe, if you will taste this salad I am sure you will not regret
it." And with hideous cunning I set the bucket beside him on the grass
and seated myself near it. The old dodo grunted and continued to daub the
canvas; but presently, as though forgetfully, and from sheer instinct, he
reached down into the bucket, pulled out a leaf of lettuce, and shoved it
into his m