. It is that
which quickens the blood of all young creatures--the rosebud, the
meadow-lark, the dragon-fly, the colt, the boy and the maiden, bidding
them glorify God with the show and the example of their comeliness.
The boy rose from the hay and skipped under the trees, over the
fantastic figures of the moon-spun carpet. He waved his arms, and
there came to his throat a simple song, which he chanted croakingly,
lest some one should hear him and laugh. He stopped, and sitting on a
fence looked at a great white cloud that was mounting the western sky.
His soul was listening to the faraway music from the breakers of the
restless rising sea of ambition, and the rush of life and action, that
were flooding into the distant rim of his consciousness. The music
charmed him. Tears came to his eyes, he knew not why. But we, whom
this mighty tide has carried away from that bourne whereon the boy's
feet strayed so happily--we know why the far-seeing angels gave him
tears.

A dog in some distant farm-yard was baying at the moon. A whining
screech owl sent a faint shudder of superstitious fear over the boy.
For a long time he sat on the fence absorbing the night sounds--the
claque of the frogs, the burring of the crickets, the hum of the water
on the mill-dam far down the valley, and the occasional call of some
human voice, ringing like a golden bell in the hush of the night. It
was after nine and the boy was deep in his trackless revery. A woman
called,--

"Win-nee, Win-nee, oh, Winnie."

The spell upon him was almost too delicious to break; but he roused
himself to reply,--

"Yessum. All right."

Then the mother's voice continued: "Now wash your feet, Winnie, and
wipe 'em dry; don't come to bed with dirty feet."

Slowly the boy climbed to the earth. He shuffled through dew, but his
feet were still too dirty. He stood in the tub of water by the pump,
rubbing one foot with the other, and his eyes turned moonward. The
thrall of the night caught him again. In a hazy stupor he sat on the
kitchen step drying his feet. When he got up, Piggy Pennington gazed
for a moment at a star--a pale star which hovered timidly over the
chimney of the home which sheltered his Heart's Desire. With the
lunacy upon him, he flung to the star a bashful kiss. Then he grinned
foolishly and came to himself with a grunt, as he ran up stairs to his
room. He was ashamed to face the south breeze that fanned his bed.

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG