world. And the world wakes up all together every morning,--that
is, as fast as the morning gets round."

With her "mayn't be's" and her "is'es," Sylvie was unconsciously
making a habit of the trick of Susan Nipper, but with a kindlier
touch to her antitheses than pertained to those of that acerb
damsel.

Mrs. Argenter wanted tangible presences. She had not reached so far
as her child into that inner living where all feel each other,
knowing that "these same tribulations"--and joys also--are
accomplished among the brotherhood that is in all the earth;
knowing, too,--ah! that is the blessedness when we come to it,--that
we may walk, already, in the heavenly places with all them that are
alive unto each other in the Lord.

The next morning after deep rains in a hill-country is a morning of
wonders; if you can go out among them, and know where to find them.
Down the ravines, from the far back, greater heights, rush and
plunge the streams whitened with ecstasy, turned to sweet wild
harmonies as they go. It is a day of glory for the water-drops that
are born to make a part of it.

Sylvie knew the way down through the glen, from fall to fall, half a
mile apart. She and Bob Jeffords had come down to them, time and
again; after nearly every little summer shower; for with all the
heat, the night rains had been plentiful and frequent, and the
water-courses had been kept full. The brick-fields, that looked so
near from the farms, were really more than two miles away; and it
was a constant descent, from brow to brow, over the range of uplands
between the Jeffords' place and the Basin.

"The First Cataracts are in here," said Sylvie, gleefully, leading
the way in by a bar-place upon a very wet path, the wetness of which
nobody minded, all having come defended with rubbers and
waterproofs, and tucked up their petticoats boot-high. Great bosks
of ferns grew beside, and here and there a bush burning with autumn
color. Everything shone and dripped; the very stones glittered.

They climbed up rocky slopes, on which the short gray moss grew,
cushiony. They followed the line of maples and alders and evergreens
that sentineled and hid away the shouting stream, spreading their
skirts and intertwining their arms to shelter it, like the privacy
of some royal child at play, and to keep back from the pilgrims the
beautiful surprise. Upon a rough table-ledge, they came to it at
last; the place where they could lean in between the trees, a