the golden apples in unknown gardens, never seemed
to lords of high adventure more remote or more desirable than a
provincial school-room thirty miles away seemed to this little
shepherd. He dreamed of it by day and by night. Last night, when the
Lady of the Spring held out her hand to him he had been sure that
what it held would help him to go to Milan. He knew he must have money,
and that was why he had never told his mother what he wanted. She
would be unhappy, he knew, that she could not give it to him. He wanted
her to think that he asked for nothing better than to mind the sheep
all day. Sometimes his heart would be so hot with desire that only
tears could cool it, and all alone in the pasture he would bury his
face in the grass and sob until his dog came and licked his neck.
At other times it was his pan's-pipe that brought ease. His father
had taught him to play on it when he was a mere baby, and sometimes
he would forget his burden in making high, clear notes come out of
the slender reeds. To-day, especially, tears seemed far away, and
he piped and piped until his heart was at rest, and the sun, now nearly
in mid-heaven, made him warm and drowsy.

An hour later he woke with a start into a strange noonday silence.
Every blade, and twig, and flower, was hushed. A soft white light
dimmed the brilliant colours of the day. No sound was heard from bird
or insect, and the only movement was among his white sheep, which
noiselessly, like a distant stream of foamy water, seemed to flow
down a winding path. The goats were standing quite still. Suddenly
they flung up their heads, as if at an imperious call, and in wild
abandon rushed toward the shadowy woods above. The dog, as if roused
from a trance, gave chase, shattering the silence with yelping barks.
The boy, his heart beating violently, followed. It took all the
afternoon to collect and quiet the flock, and when Marcus started
home he had himself not lost the awed sense of a Presence in his
pasture. The nearness seemed less familiar than that of his Lady of
Gifts, and yet she must have been concerned in it, for the thrill
that remained with him was a happy one.

It was late, but to-day more than ever he must stop at her shrine.
Near his regular path, below a narrow gorge, there was a marvellous
spring. It rose in the mountains, ran down among the rocks, and was
received in an artificial chamber. After a short halt there, it fell
into the lake below. The extraordin