d
all that time, while George made my flesh creep with his comments, the
lady in the pool was splashing me. I'm still quite damp."

"Did the horse see?"

"Do horses wink, Mrs. Smith? Do they smile? Can they blush? The Graces
shook their robes above our heads, the squirrels gossiped, the rippled
pool caught glints from the rising sun, and a flight of humming-birds
came whirring, as though they had been thrown in George's face. Them
sanguinary birds, he said, was always getting in the ruddy way. As to
the old horse, he kicked up his heels and pranced off sidewise down the
glen, and the man followed, rumbling benedictions."

I explained that my dear husband can not see the minx, that my servant
dare not look.

"I doubt," said Father Jared, with regret, "that very few fairies
nowadays are superstitious enough to believe in us poor mortals."

For that I could have kissed him.

"They used," the dear old man went on, "to believe in our forefathers,
but there is a very general decline of faith. It is not for us to blame
them. What fairy, for example, could be expected to believe in Tearful
George? He chews tobacco."

"Oh, tell me more about her. Did she speak to you? She's fearfully
dangerous. We had a ranch-hand here who went quite fey, possessed, I
think. I'm frightened of her now."

"She thinks," he retorted, "that you're a wicked woman."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. She said you would run away, and you did. I am to tell you
that's very unwise."

"Please tell the minx to mind her own business."

"What is her business?" he asked mildly.

"Being a fairy, I suppose. I'll never forgive her for what she did to
Billy. Besides," I added, "she makes fun of us."

"No wonder, for we humans are so stupid."

"She's full of mischief."

"Of course." The old man's eyes twinkled and blinked as though--I can't
set words to fit that puzzled memory. He had told me twice that he was
not a fairy. "I am to tell you from my lady, that she is not the minx.
Winds, waves, and living things," he said, "are full of mischief and
laughter. The sun has room to sparkle even in a tear, and Heaven touches
our lips with every smile, for joy is holy. Spirits, angels, fairies,
are only thoughts which have caught the light celestial, mirror-thoughts
which shine in Heaven's glory. Children, and happy people see that
light, which never shines on any clouded soul."

"My soul is clouded. Help me."

"I wonder," he smiled with his old kind eyes. "Have yo