ever! I'll toast to death rather than give up this
redoubtable bliss. Heaven prevent Her coming, now! I've reason to fear
the lash of the whip, and the magic words which mean exile: "Toby!
that's stupid! I forbid you to roast yourself. You'll have sore eyes,
and catch cold when you go out." That's what She says, while I regard
her with a stupid look of utter devotion. But She's never duped by it. I
hear noises upstairs, her step coming and going ... I wonder is her
vagabond fancy wearied at last? This morning She whistled to me and in
my haste to obey her, I rolled to the bottom of the stairs--being low
and thick-set, with short legs, no nose, and almost no tail to balance
me. Well, we set off. The last apples were rocking to-and-fro on swaying
branches. My happy voice, a joyful shout from her now and then, the vain
crowing of the cocks, the creaking of wagons on the road--all these
sounds floated on a bluish, cottony, suffocating fog. She took me far,
and many marvelous things happened on our way. We met terrible giant
dogs. My proud bearing seemed to exasperate them, but I kept them back
with a single look (besides, a closed iron gate rendered them
powerless). I chased a rabbit into the thicket, though She cried loudly:
"I forbid you to touch the little animal!" ... My mother certainly gave
me swift legs but they're short, and the white end of the little beast
kept far ahead. A bush covered with red berries detained us a very long
time. She sees no objection to eating strange things and I can
truthfully say that I always taste everything She offers me, for I've
great faith in her. But this morning--"Eat, Toby, nice berries. Eat!
here are some rose-hips. Oh stupid! how can you not dote upon their
delicious flavor? I assure you these are comfits of Mother Nature's
making." In deference to her, I chewed a reddish ball; there were some
rough hairs on it--put there doubtless by her teasing hand--and what was
bound to happen, did happen ... Khaha! My throat rejected the nasty
"rosehip." ...

But listen, Fire, what I saw after that, passes _my_ understanding. It
was in a wood where stiff leaves rustled. Had She carried you under her
cloak, or do gods like you come at her bidding? I saw her hands pile up
the wood, arrange flat stones in some mysterious fashion, and then,
Fire, I saw the sparks flash and your joyous soul palpitate, grow big,
soar naked and rose-colored, veil itself in smoke, snap noisily (for
yours is a bellig