gap in the chorus of things heard, and
when all the homely voices are replaced by gaps, one feels the
desolation of the high lonesome. Yet I fled away lest the widow's
vengeful stump should overtake me. I was so tired of being in bed.

The silver spring, the glade of marigolds, the brier-rose brake, are all
most necessary before one ventures into the cathedral grove, for it is
not well to pass direct from any worldly home into a holy place. And yet
I felt that something was badly wrong, for evil persons must have come
in the night and stretched the trail to double its usual length. I was
very angry, and I shall tell my husband.

I reached the grove, at this cool hour so like a green lagoon where
coral piers branch up to some ribbed vault. The waves of incense, the
river's organ throb, the glory in the windows, gave me peace, but the
choir of the winds had gone away, and for once in that sweet solitude I
was lonely. My sitting is at the root of the governess tree, and Jesse's
under the great father pine. If he were only there, how it would ease
the pain. I needed him so badly as I sat there, trying to make him
present in my thoughts. He had gone away, and the squirrel who lives in
the widow tree, had taken even his match ends. Only the cigar stubs were
left, which would, of course, be bad for the squirrel's children. I
wasn't well enough to call but I left my nut.

Close by is the terrific verge of the inner canyon, and sitting at the
very edge of death I saw into the mists.

It was so foolish, why should I be frightened of death, such a coward in
bearing pain? And yet I had better confess the truth, that presently I
ran away screaming, my skirt torn by brambles, my feet caught in the
roots. Only when I passed the place where by anemones live, and beyond
the east door of the grove came out into full sunlight, I could go no
farther but fell to the ground exhausted. Yes, it was very silly, and
that blind panic shamed me as I looked up at the crescent of silvery
birch trees who hold court at the foot of the upper cliff.

Something small and black was coming toward me, a clergyman too, and
nervous, because he twiddled his little hat.

"Are you in pain?" he asked.

"Are you a fairy?" I answered, wondering. I couldn't think of anything
else at the moment, for our lost ranch is so far from everywhere.

"No, madam," he said quite gravely. "I'm only a curate. May I sit down?"

My heart went out to him, for he was so lit