d falls and sea-sides and
cities, in a skimming of the States. You cannot have more than there
is; and you do not care, for more than just what stands for and
emphasizes the essential beauty, the living gladness, that no
_place_ gives, but that hearts carry about into places and baptize
them with, so that ever afterward a tender charm hangs round them,
because "we saw it _then_."

And Kenneth and Rosamond Kincaid had all these bright associations,
these beautiful glamours, these glad reminders, laid up for years to
come, in a four miles space that they might ride or walk over,
re-living it all, in the returning Octobers of many other years. I
say they had a bridal tour that day, and that the four miles were as
good as four thousand. Such little bits of signs may stand for such
high, great, blessed things!

"How lovely stillness and separateness are!" said Rosamond as they
sat in the buggy, stopping to enjoy a glimpse of the river on one
side, and a flame of burning bushes on the other, against the dark
face of a piece of woods that held the curve of road in which they
stood, in sheltered quiet. "How pretty a house would be, up on that
knoll. Do you know things puzzle me a little, Kenneth? I have almost
come to a certain conclusion lately, that people are not meant to
live apart, but that it is really everybody's duty to live in a
town, or a village, or in some gathering of human beings together.
Life tends to that, and all the needs and uses of it; and yet,--it
is so sweet in a place like this,--and however kind and social you
may be, it seems once in a while such an escape! Do you believe in
beautiful country places, and in having a little piece of creation
all to yourself, if you can get it, or if not what do you suppose
all creation is made for?"

"Perhaps just that which you have said, Rose." Rosamond has now,
what her mother hinted once, somebody to call her "Rose," with a
happy and beautiful privilege. "Perhaps to escape into. Not for one,
here and there, selfishly, all the time; but for the whole, with
fair share and opportunity. Creation is made very big, you see, and
men and women are made without wings, and with very limited hands
and feet. Also with limited lives; that makes the time-question, and
the hurry. There is a suggestion,--at any rate, a necessity,--in
that. It brings them within certain spaces, always. In spite of all
the artificial lengthening of railroads and telegraphs, there must
still be c