lone; he's going' away now.'

We saw him disappear behind the trees and then we got back into our beds
again. I covered my head with the bedclothes and said a small prayer for
the poor night man.

And in this atmosphere of mystery and adventure, among the plain folk of
Faraway, whose care of me when I was in great need, and whose love of
me always, I count among the priceless treasures of God's providence, my
childhood passed. And the day came near when I was to begin to play my
poor part in the world.

BOOK TWO

Chapter 12

It was a time of new things--that winter when I saw the end of my
fifteenth year. Then I began to enjoy the finer humours of life in
Faraway--to see with understanding; and by God's grace--to feel.

The land of play and fear and fable was now far behind me and I had
begun to feel the infinite in the ancient forest' in the everlasting
hills, in the deep of heaven, in all the ways of men. Hope Brower was
now near woman grown. She had a beauty of face and form that was the
talk of the countryside. I have travelled far and seen many a fair face
hut never one more to my eye. I have heard men say she was like a girl
out of a story-book those days.

Late years something had come between us. Long ago we had fallen out of
each other's confidence, and ever since she had seemed to shun me. It
was the trip in the sledgehouse that' years after, came up between us
and broke our childish intimacy. Uncle Be had told, before company, how
she had kissed me that day and bespoke me for a husband, and while the
others laughed loudly she had gone out of the room crying. She would
have little to say to me then. I began to play with boys and she with
girls. And it made me miserable to hear the boys a bit older than I
gossip of her beauty and accuse each other of the sweet disgrace of
love.

But I must hasten to those events in Faraway that shaped our destinies.
And first comes that memorable night when I had the privilege
of escorting Hope to the school lyceum where the argument of Jed
Feary--poet of the hills--fired my soul with an ambition that has
remained with me always.

Uncle Be suggested that I ask Hope to go with me.

'Prance right up to her,' he said, 'an' say you'd be glad of the
pleasure of her company.

It seemed to me a very dubious thing to do. I looked thoughtful and
turned red in the face.

'Young man,' he continued, 'the boy thet's 'fraid o' women'll never hev
whiskers.'

'How'