as surely may only be found in Kent,--where
great apple-trees, gnarled, and knotted, shot out huge branches that
seemed to twist, and writhe; where were stately pear trees; where
peaches, and apricots, ripened against time-worn walls whose red bricks
still glowed rosily for all their years; where the air was sweet with
the scent of fruit, and fragrant with thyme, and sage, and marjoram; and
where the black-birds, bold marauders that they are, piped gloriously
all day long. In the midst of this orchard they stopped, and Small
Porges rested one hand against the rugged bole of a great, old
apple tree.

"This," said he, "is my very own tree, because he's so very big, an' so
very, very old,--Adam says he's the oldest tree in the orchard. I call
him 'King Arthur' 'cause he is so big, an' strong,--just like a king
should be, you know,--an' all the other trees are his Knights of the
Round Table."

But Bellew was not looking at "King Arthur" just then; his eyes were
turned to where one came towards them through the green,--one surely as
tall, and gracious, as proud and beautiful, as Enid, or Guinevere, or
any of those lovely ladies, for all her simple gown of blue, and the
sunbonnet that shaded the beauty of her face. Yes, as he gazed, Bellew
was sure and certain that she who, all unconscious of their presence,
came slowly towards them with the red glow of the sunset about her, was
handsomer, lovelier, statelier, and altogether more desirable than all
the beautiful ladies of King Arthur's court,--or any other court so-ever.

But now Small Porges finding him so silent, and seeing where he looked,
must needs behold her too, and gave a sudden, glad cry, and ran out from
behind the great bulk of "King Arthur," and she, hearing his voice,
turned and ran to meet him, and sank upon her knees before him, and
clasped him against her heart, and rejoiced, and wept, and scolded him,
all in a breath. Wherefore Bellew, unobserved, as yet in "King Arthur's"
shadow, watching the proud head with its wayward curls, (for the
sunbonnet had been tossed back upon her shoulders), watching the quick,
passionate caress of those slender, brown hands, and listening to the
thrilling tenderness of that low, soft voice, felt, all at once,
strangely lonely, and friendless, and out of place, very rough and
awkward, and very much aware of his dusty person,--felt, indeed, as any
other ordinary human might, who had tumbled unexpectedly into Arcadia;
therefore