give me the right to something more, I'll stand where I
stood half an hour ago, down on the ladder of friendship. But give me
the rest of the hour here--if you trust me as I trust you."

I was only too glad to consent. But the moment I agreed, he remembered
that I was drenched, and said he would take me home. I had to give him
my hot hand before he would believe I was warm as if sitting by a stove.

[Illustration: CRAWFORD'S NOTCH, WHITE MOUNTAINS]

Oh, the glorious half-hour that followed! I cannot express to you,
Adrienne, the joy of it. We spoke no more of love. We did not touch each
other. But we _knew_. And the rain, which had come down for a few
minutes in that great flood, stopped, to let the sun shine out. I never
saw the world so marvellous as then. The lovely things sparkling bright
all around where we looked put ideas of beauty in our heads, so we spoke
about them, not about ourselves. Just to be there together, that was
all. You cannot think what a pleasure only to talk of _trees_! And
it seemed they were listening. They laughed and clapped their little
hands.

[Illustration: map]*

It is Molly who says always that trees are alive, like us. These woods
of the White Mountains she calls the woods of Fairies. Now we saw well
it was the truth. They looked quite different woods from others. Even
the sunshine was a different colour, and shades of colour. You see, the
woods are not old, but young: baby birches, and baby maples, and their
big brothers not yet turning darker green. In the sun all was gold of
many tints. Peter and I could see a flickering light, like a net of
pale, pale gold, trail across the amber-coloured leaves of spring. Peter
said, "The spirit of the woods has bare shoulders, sunburned brown, and
her gold hair blows over them." I said, "The trunks of the littlest
birches are sticks of her broken ivory fan she has planted in the
ground, and the tall ones are masts of buried ships, bleached white in
the moonlight." We were a chorus to praise the Nature; but if our tree
had been a cell of prison, we should have said, "the bars are
beautiful."

It was such a dear, kind tree, my Adrienne! Peter made us both pretend
that we could remember when we had been trees, live creatures, living in
lovely houses--the houses which were ourselves. We had our concert rooms
where the birds sang to us. We had our menageries of trained squirrels.
We lived very long, and always we were young and of great beauty. W