, no one but a woman would have thought of a
fire in June."

"No one but Priscilla!" Farwell added.

They talked before the fire until late that evening. Priscilla's plans
were discussed and considered. So full was she of excitement and joy that
she did not notice the shock of surprise that Farwell showed when the
names of Ledyard and Travers passed her lips. Seeing that she either did
not connect the men with her past, or had reasons for not referring to
it, Farwell held his peace. It was long afterward that he confided his
knowledge to Boswell, and that wise friend bade him keep his secret.

"It's her life, and she's treading her Road," he said; "she has an odd
fancy that her Heart's Desire lies just ahead. I cannot see that either
you or I have the right to awaken her to realities while she lives so
magically in her dreams."

After Priscilla's own plans were gone over and over again, Boswell said
quietly:

"I'm going back to that blessed In-Place of yours, Butterfly. You
remember how I told you, the first day I met you, that I could not
understand any one choosing the dangerous Garden when he might have--the
Place Beyond the Winds?"

Priscilla leaned forward, her breath coming sharply.

"You mean--you are going to--to live in Kenmore?"

"Yes! _Live!_ That is a bright way of putting it. Live! live! The Beetle
is--going to live!"

Priscilla looked about at the rich comfort of the room, thought of what
it meant to the delicate cripple crouching toward the blaze, his deep
eyes flame-touched and wonderful. Then she looked at Master Farwell,
whose lips were trembling.

"He--he calls that--living!" he said slowly. "Tell him, Priscilla, of the
bareness and hardness of the life. I have tried to, but he will not
listen."

The tears, the ready, easy tears filled Priscilla's eyes, and her heart
throbbed until it hurt.

"He will love the hemlocks and the deep red rocks," she said, as if
speaking to herself; "he will love the Channel and the little islands, he
will love the woods--and the wind does not blow hard there--he will be
glad of that."

"But the ugly, wretched bareness of my hut, Priscilla! For heaven's sake,
make him see that!"

"But the--fireplace, Master Farwell!"

"And--the friend beside it!" Boswell broke in; "and no more loneliness. A
beetle that has crawled in the Garden so long will thank God for a real
place--of its own. 'Tis but a change of scene for the Property Man."

"I love the Garden!"