CHAPTER XXVI

_In Which a Strange Craft Anchors in a Sea of Emerald Light; and in
Which Mocking-Birds Sing in the Moonlight._

Sweeping through a country of white sand and of charred trees run hard
clay highways. When motor cars from the cities and health resorts
began to invade the pines, it was found that the old wagon trails were
inadequate; hence there followed experiments which resulted in
intersecting orange-colored roads, throughout the desert-like expanse.

It was on a day in April that over the road which led up toward the
hills there sailed the snowy-white canopy of one of the strange
land-craft of that region--a schooner-wagon drawn by two fat mules who
walked at a leisurely but steady pace, seemingly without guidance from
any hand.

Yet that, beneath the hooded cover, there was a directing power, was
demonstrated, as the mules turned suddenly from the hot road to a wagon
path beneath the shelter of the pines.

It was strewn thick with brown needles, and the sharp hoofs of the
little animals made no sound. Deeper and deeper they went into the
wood, until the swinging craft and its clumsy steeds seemed to swim in
a sea of emerald light.

On and on breasting waves of golden gloom, where the sunlight sifted
in, to anchor at last in a still space where the great trees sang
overhead.

Then from beneath the canopy emerged a man in khaki.

He took off his hat, and stood for a moment looking up at the great
trees, then he called softly, "Mary."

She came to the back of the wagon and he lifted her down.

"This is my cathedral," he said; "it is the place of the biggest pines."

She leaned against him and looked up. His arm was about her. She wore
a thin silk blouse and a white skirt. Her soft fair hair was blown
against his cheek.

"Roger," she said, "was there ever such a honeymoon?"

"Was there ever such a woman--such a wife?"

After that they were silent. There was no need for words. But
presently he spread a rug for her, and built their fire, and they had
their lunch. The mules ate comfortably in the shade, and rested
throughout the long hot hours of the afternoon.

Then once more the strange craft sailed on. On and on over miles of
orange roadway, passing now and then an orchard, flaunting the
rose-color of its peach trees against the dun background of sand;
passing again between drifts of dogwood, which shone like snow beneath
the slanting rays of the sun--sailing on and on unt