the clouds lightened and the rain abated. Mrs. Lem would not
hear to Sylvia's assisting in clearing away, but sent her upstairs to
unpack her trunk. She was at work at it when the western sun suddenly
shone out.

"The rainbow, the rainbow!" shouted Minty at the foot of the stairs.

"Where?" cried Sylvia.

"Over the mill."

Sylvia ran into Thinkright's room, which was on the eastern side of the
house, and, throwing open a window, fell on her knees before it. In a
protecting, splendid arch a perfect rainbow spanned the cloud above the
mill. Rays of sunlight struck full upon the sightless eyes, and kissed
its gray face until the tears sparkled into diamonds and the old
building was beset with glory.

"The bow of promise," murmured Sylvia. She stretched out her hands to
the mill. "Just open them a little way," she said. "You're no unhappier
than I was, but I've found it such a good world! Just open your
shutters and look. You'll always be glad. Perhaps you can't have
everything you want, perhaps not the very thing you want most. What of
that? Can't you trust? I'm learning to. 'Love alone will stay,' and it
won't forget. It never forgets."

The girl's eyes lifted to the glorifying arch. One end curved to a
distant forest and was lost, and the other dipped deep within the
ocean. The Tide Mill grew to radiance beneath its caress. It seemed on
the point of yielding, and opening gently to the setting sun.

At the climax of color Sylvia, smiling, dropped her eyelids. She would
not see it fade. Suddenly, her ear was caught by a note as of a distant
bell; then a tangle of bells, tiny, musical, and the song of the hermit
thrush rang out from the far thicket.

[Illustration: Bar of music]

Sylvia caught her lip between her teeth, and her heart swelled.

The next morning nature, as always after a gloomy season, seemed trying
to cause forgetfulness of its sulks and tears by bringing the whole
battery of its charms to bear upon sea and land.

After breakfast Thinkright produced a key from his pocket. "There, my
girl," he said, "is the key to the boathouse. I know you can scarcely
wait."

"That's true," replied Sylvia. "Come on, Minty."

The child's round eyes were fixed solemnly on some point beyond
Sylvia's shoulder.

"I don't know as I care 'bout goin' boatin' this mornin'," she replied
decorously.

"What?" returned Sylvia, astonished. She remembered now how remarkably
quiet the child had been throughout breakfast