the wood, to the ancestor of forests. The
trees stand there as if brooding over the lost centuries of their youth.
The moss is as gray as Time himself. The only sounds, save the soughing
sighs of the giant branches, are the chime of the waterfall and the
chirping of birds. I love it," she said with sparkling eyes, "because
those trees seem typical of the undying faith of the land, which for two
centuries has never lost hope and has never ceased working for the day
which will soon crown our efforts. See," she pointed down the aisle of
overhanging branches they were entering, "is it not magnificent?"

Side by side, comrades under the spell of the woodlands, rode Trusia and
Carter, inhaling the fresh morning sifted through the leaves. A vista of
trees arose on either hand, each one seemingly more massive, more aged
than its fellow; some bowed in retrospection, some erect with hope and
looking skyward for the new star in their country's firmament.

A peace begotten of serenity settled on Carter's soul. He turned to look
at the girl beside him. The magic of the place had brought a refreshing
expression of content into her face. He noted the soft turn of her
cheek, the inviting round chin and the steady splendor of the eyes. The
spell of silence was broken then. The wood sprites were routed by a
modern girl. Feeling his eyes upon her, she turned to him, her lips half
parted in a smile.

"Is it not wonderful, all of this?" she said, caressing the leafy
monarchs with a wide-spread gesture. "Do you have such forests in
America, such trees? Oh, I have heard of your California forests, where
roads are cut through the trunk of a single giant without destroying its
life. But it is the spirit of the woodlands, I mean. Do they breathe
traditions?"

"Not to us, Highness. We are not their children. Perhaps the Indian when
he bade them farewell could understand their counsels."

"You were a soldier," she said, as a suggested possibility caught her,
"did you ever fight Indians?" Her eager face was almost as a child's who
begs a story.

"Sorry I can't oblige you," he laughed indulgently. "I engaged only the
prosaic European from Spain."

"You fought in Cuba? Tell me about it."

So much as he modestly might tell, he related to her as they rode on.
They were young, time was cheap and the tale was not uninteresting.

The labored heaving of the horses' shoulders brought them back to their
surroundings. They were leaving the forest to