autiful character. Analyze it carefully, and you will reduce
it generally to absolute simplicity and absolute purity--two elements
common enough in adulteration; but place it face to face with a more
complex personality, and mirror-like it will take on a hundred delicate
shades of ethical beauty, while at the same time preserving its own
lofty spirituality.

Thus Hilda Farrand reflected Thorpe. In the clear mirror of her heart
his image rested transfigured. It was as though the glass were magic,
so that the gross and material was absorbed and lost, while the more
spiritual qualities reflected back. So the image was retained in its
entirety, but etherealized, refined. It is necessary to attempt, even
thus faintly and inadequately, a sketch of Hilda's love, for a partial
understanding of it is necessary to the comprehension of what followed
the moon of delight.

That moon saw a variety of changes.

The bed of French Creek was cleared. Three of the roads were finished,
and the last begun. So much for the work of it.

Morton and Cary shot four deer between them, which was unpardonably
against the law, caught fish in plenty, smoked two and a half pounds of
tobacco, and read half of one novel. Mrs. Cary and Miss Carpenter walked
a total of over a hundred miles, bought twelve pounds of Indian work of
all sorts, embroidered the circle of two embroidery frames, learned to
paddle a birch-bark canoe, picked fifteen quarts of berries, and gained
six pounds in weight. All the party together accomplished five picnics,
four explorations, and thirty excellent campfires in the evening. So
much for the fun of it.

Little Phil disappeared utterly, taking with him his violin, but leaving
his broken bow. Thorpe has it even to this day. The lumberman caused
search and inquiry on all sides. The cripple was never heard of again.
He had lived his brief hour, taken his subtle artist's vengeance of
misplayed notes on the crude appreciation of men too coarse-fibered to
recognize it, brought together by the might of sacrifice and consummate
genius two hearts on the brink of misunderstanding;--now there was no
further need for him, he had gone. So much for the tragedy of it.

"I saw you long ago," said Hilda to Thorpe. "Long, long ago, when I was
quite a young girl. I had been visiting in Detroit, and was on my way
all alone to catch an early train. You stood on the corner thinking,
tall and straight and brown, with a weather-beaten old hat an