ndirectly. He wrote: "There is much mist this morning. I see the last
of America, dim as dreams through this mist. But above rises the great
goddess, she that is to America what Pallas was to Athens. She lifts
high her torch--and it seems I see it shine upon your face. I remember
her name and the meaning of this light that she is holding so high above
the mist. For you I repeat her name many times in my heart. It is with a
feeling of religion that I say this name over and over--linking it to
yours. And I feel that for you, high above all mist, is that pure flame
shining."

Sophy loved this letter, for among other things, it reassured her about
their friendship. It made her feel in many ways that he was too fine not
to have realized that there could be no more love in her life and too
strong to sacrifice their beautiful friendship to a vain desire
something that could never be. She spent a solacing hour in writing him
a letter such as she felt he would love to receive--all about her home,
herself, her daily doings, her dog, her horse ... some of her inmost
thoughts that she felt he would understand and share with her.

The end of September had been chilly, but October came in with soft,
spring-like showers again, very mild--real May weather--rather like
Indian Spring than Indian Summer. On the second day the showers held
about noon. Harold Grey set off with the whole "bunch" of boys for a
long-promised jaunt. They were to ride up to the top of Laurel Mountain
and spend the night there in an old rubble hut, sleeping on pine boughs.
There was to be a camp-fire, they were to cook their own meals. Off they
went, all on horseback, laughing and singing:

"_Ole ark a-movin', movin', chillun!_"

Sophy watched Bobby as he rode off on the old Shelty, his face a-shine,
and again she felt that it was all worth while if Bobby were so
blissfully content. He had never worn that shining face in Newport or
New York. That afternoon she went out to look for mushrooms. This was
surely ideal mushroom weather. She put on an old corduroy skirt, and
stout boots, and borrowed a little basket from Mammy Nan.

A great west wind had suddenly sprung up. Wild tatters of cloud were
blown across the sky. Now they veiled, now they revealed the sun. The
box hedges glittered darkly, waving their sombre plumes to and fro, up
and down. The grass glinted like yellow crystal as the sun caught it.
Leaves scurried in flocks through the air. The wet clay w