Bernardino. There is no trace of it
before. Up to then you are still in October; and then you get to the
top of the pass, and with a burst it is June,--brilliant, windless,
orange-scented.

The twins and Mr. Twist were in the restaurant-car lunching when the
miracle happened. Suddenly the door opened and in came summer, with a
great warm breath of roses. In a moment the car was invaded by the scent
of flowers and fruit and of something else strange and new and very
aromatic. The electric fans were set twirling, the black waiters began
to perspire, the passengers called for cold things to eat, and the twins
pulled off their knitted caps and jerseys.

From that point on to the end of the line in Los Angeles the twins could
only conclude they were in heaven. It was the light that did it, the
extraordinary glow of radiance. Of course there were orchards after
orchards of orange trees covered with fruit, white houses smothered in
flowers, gardens overrun with roses, tall groups of eucalyptus trees
giving an impression of elegant nakedness, long lines of pepper trees
with frail fern-like branches, and these things continued for the rest
of the way; but they would have been as nothing without that beautiful,
great bland light. The twins had had their hot summers in Pomerania, and
their July days in England, but had not yet seen anything like this.
Here was summer without sultriness, without gnats, mosquitoes,
threatening thunderstorms, or anything to spoil it; it was summer as it
might be in the Elysian fields, perfectly clear, and calm, and radiant.
When the train stopped they could see how not a breath of wind stirred
the dust on the quiet white roads, and the leaves of the magnolia trees
glistened motionless in the sun. The train went slowly and stopped
often, for there seemed to be one long succession of gardens and
villages. After the empty, wind-driven plains they had come through,
those vast cold expanses without a house or living creature in sight,
what a laughing plenty, what a gracious fruitfulness, was here. And when
they went back to their compartment it too was full of summer
smells,--the smell of fruit, and roses, and honey.

For the first time since the war began and with it their wanderings, the
twins felt completely happy. It was as though the loveliness wrapped
them round and they stretched themselves in it and forgot. No fear of
the future, no doubt of it at all, they thought, gazing out of the
window, th