fairy mass
of delicate May foliage. The mill-pond gleamed, green and golden
brown, between the willow clumps along its margin. From the dam a
stream issued in a little, noisy, silver waterfall. It babbled across
the road, under the old bridge, among bracken and mint, and wound this
way and that through the deep valley until it lost itself in a swamp
far to the south. A hard, beaten path led from the street down into
the gold and green depths. It was an alluring path, and Gilbert
stepped into it. He slid and stumbled down the steep bank, catching at
blossoming dogwood bushes and fragrant cedar boughs. A boyish light
came into his eyes as they caught the flash of the tiny river; here
green under an overhanging willow, there snow white under a rain of
cherry blossoms, now silver as it ran around a shallow curve, and again
gold in the sunlight filtered through a tangle of elm boughs and
bitter-sweet.

The little valley was as level as a floor at the bottom, carpeted with
vivid green grass spangled with dandelions, and intoxicating with the
perfume of the wild-cherry blossoms. A cow stood knee deep in the
stream, and another was feeding off the underbrush half way up the
bank. At a sudden curve in the brook a great elm stretched up from a
bank of blue violets. On its topmost limb, swinging gaily, an oriole
was blowing gloriously on his little golden trumpet.

Gilbert flung himself down on the violet bank. He had been born and
bred a country boy, and now, after years of city life, the old charm of
the free open spaces of earth and sky came over him stronger than ever.
He wondered if Rosalie would not be happy, too, if she were to come
down into this green-and-gold Paradise with him, and listen to the
brook babbling along over the pebbles. And yet, how could he ask her
to leave the wealth and ease of her city home and come to this dull
village? He reflected, with a deep sigh, upon the humiliating fact
that Rosalie would not consider the proposition for an instant, even if
he had the courage to make it. Well, he would work hard, and by and by
he would go back to the city, and then she would listen--she must
listen. He leaned back against the elm and dreamed of that day. He
could see the light in Rosalie's eyes as he had seen it that last day
in Toronto. He would have been happier to-day if they had not been so
bright and merry on the occasion of his departure. But what beautiful
eyes they were! Blue--so blu