as beautiful as the anemones, and he thought of Nora
Glynn living in a grimy London lodging, whereas he was here amid many
flowers--anemones blue, scarlet, and purple, their heads bent down on
their stalks. New ones were pushing up to replace the ones that had
blown and scattered the evening before. The gentians were not yet open,
and he thought how they would look in a few hours--bluer than the
mid-day sky. He passed through the wicket, and stood on the hill-top
watching the mists sinking lower. The dawn light strengthened--the sky
filled with pale tints of emerald, mauve, and rose. A cormorant opened
his wings and flew down the lake, his fellows followed soon after; but
Father Oliver stood on the hill-top waiting for daybreak. At last a red
ball appeared behind a reddish cloud; its colour changed to the colour
of flame, paled again, and at four flared up like a rose-coloured
balloon.

The day had begun, and he turned towards his house. But he couldn't
sleep; the house was repellent, and he waited among the thorn-bushes and
ferns. Of what use to lie in one's bed when sleep is far and will not
be beckoned? and his brain being clear as day he went away to the woods
and watersides, saying: 'Life is orientated like a temple; there are in
every existence days when life streams down the nave, striking the
forehead of the God.' And during his long life Father Oliver always
looked back upon the morning when he invaded the pantry and cut large
slices of bread, taking the butter out of the old red crock, with a
little happy sadness in his heart. He wrapped the slices in paper and
wandered without thought for whither he was going, watching the birds in
the branches, interested in everything. He was fortunate enough to catch
sight of an otter asleep on a rock, and towards evening he came upon a
wild-duck's nest in the sedge; many of the ducklings had broken their
shells; these struggled after the duck; but there were two prisoners,
two that could not escape from their shells, and, seeing their lives
would be lost if he did not come to their aid, he picked the shells away
and took them to the water's edge, for he had heard Catherine say that
one could almost see little ducks growing when they had had a drop of
water. The old duck swam about uttering a whistling sound, her cry that
her ducklings were to join her. And thinking of the lives he had saved,
he felt a sudden regret that he had not come upon the nest earlier, when
Christy