o spot was more inviting, the short moss-grass before
its shattered door, the lichen on its crumbling stones. From its topmost
platform one saw the distant mountains, faint like spectres, and the
silent ships that came and vanished; and about one's feet the pleasant
farm lands and the grave, sweet river.

Smaller and poorer the world has grown since then. Now, behind those
hills lie naught but smoky towns and dingy villages; but then they
screened a land of wonder where princesses dwelt in castles, where the
cities were of gold. Now the ocean is but six days' journey wide, ending
at the New York Custom House. Then, had one set one's sail upon it, one
would have travelled far and far, beyond the golden moonlight, beyond
the gate of clouds; to the magic land of the blood red shore, t'other
side o' the sun. I never dreamt in those days a world could be so small.

Upon the topmost platform a wooden seat ran round within the parapet,
and sitting there hand in hand, sheltered from the wind which ever blew
about the tower, my mother would people for me all the earth and air
with the forms of myth and legend--perhaps unwisely, yet I do not
know. I took no harm from it, good rather, I think. They were beautiful
fancies, most of them; or so my mother turned them, making for love and
pity, as do all the tales that live, whether poems or old wives fables.
But at that time of course they had no meaning for me other than the
literal; so that my mother, looking into my eyes, would often hasten
to add: "But that, you know, is only an old superstition, and of course
there are no such things nowadays." Yet, forgetful sometimes of the
time, and overtaken homeward by the shadows, we would hasten swiftly
through the darkening path, holding each other tightly by the hand.

Spring had waxed to summer, summer waned to autumn. Then my aunt and I
one morning, waiting at the breakfast table, saw through the open window
my mother skipping, dancing, pirouetting up the garden path. She held
a letter open in her hand, which as she drew near she waved about her
head, singing:

"Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, then comes Wednesday morning."

She caught me to her and began dancing with me round the room.

Observed my aunt, who continued steadily to eat bread and butter:

"Just like 'em all. Goes mad with joy. What for? Because she's going to
leave a decent house, to live in a poky hole in the East End of London,
and keep one servant."

To my