elm tree under which we were
resting.

"I could not love it more; it is a wonder which never ends, and an
enduring delight. If I could think that Paradise was like this day, and
this place, I would not care when death came."

"I'm so glad," she answered, with the simplicity and directness of a
child. "I have been in cities, and I don't see how a soul can live
there. It seems to me that mine would cramp and dwindle until it died if
I had to live in a big town. Even the large and beautiful places of
worship speak more of the human than of the divine. It seems that men
go because they must, and that women go to show their clothes. This is
my religion and my temple." She smiled in real joy as she waved her hand
about her in a gesture comprehending everything bounded by the horizon.
"Look at the roof of my temple. Was there ever one so high built by
mortals, and was there ever a pigment mixed that could give it the tint
which mine holds? And it is not always the same. To-day it is a pale
blue, marked with delicate lines of cloud. At twilight it will darken to
azure; to-night it will be studded with a million gems. And no prayer
falls back from that roof upon the head of the sender, for the stars are
the portholes through which they go to heaven. Do you never think that
way?"

I shook my head slowly.

"It is very beautiful," I said, "and equally true, no doubt, but I had
never thought of it in just that way. I love this life because I can't
help but love it. The forests, the meadows, the fields, and the brooks
are what my soul craves; yet if you ask me why, I cannot tell you. I
have been happier the few short weeks I have spent in your home than I
was all the rest of my life. Since you have come, my happiness has
deepened."

I dared not look up, but kept my eyes on the four-leaf clover I was
plucking to pieces.

"I'm glad I've helped make your visit pleasant."

Her voice was in the same low sweet tones which she had before employed,
and I knew by this she attached no particular significance to my last
sentence.

"When mother wrote me that you had come to board with us, I was a little
displeased, for I was jealous of the sweet accord in which we all dwelt,
and did not want it marred. But when she told me all about you, and
your habits, my feelings changed. I do not wish to draw any unjust
comparisons, but there are very few people with tastes and inclinations
like yours and mine,--don't you think so?"

This naive