, for to me her spirit was like a fair and fragrant
road in the midst of which I might walk in peace and joy, but where I
was continually to discover something new. The last time I saw her quite
well and strong was over in the woods where she had gone with her two
little brothers and her nurse to pass the hottest weeks of summer. I
followed her, foolish old creature that I was, just to be near her, for
I needed to dwell where the sweet aroma of her life could reach me.

One morning when I came from my room, limping a little, because I am
not so young as I used to be, and the lake wind works havoc with me, my
little godchild came dancing to me singing:

"Come with me and I'll show you my places, my places, my places!"

Miriam, when she chanted by the Red Sea might have been more exultant,
but she could not have been more bewitching. Of course I knew what
"places" were, because I had once been a little girl myself, but unless
you are acquainted with the real meaning of "places," it would be
useless to try to explain. Either you know "places" or you do not--just
as you understand the meaning of poetry or you do not. There are things
in the world which cannot be taught.

Elsbeth's two tiny brothers were present, and I took one by each hand
and followed her. No sooner had we got out of doors in the woods than
a sort of mystery fell upon the world and upon us. We were cautioned to
move silently, and we did so, avoiding the crunching of dry twigs.

"The fairies hate noise," whispered my little godchild, her eyes
narrowing like a cat's.

"I must get my wand first thing I do," she said in an awed undertone.
"It is useless to try to do anything without a wand."

The tiny boys were profoundly impressed, and, indeed, so was I. I felt
that at last, I should, if I behaved properly, see the fairies, which
had hitherto avoided my materialistic gaze. It was an enchanting moment,
for there appeared, just then, to be nothing commonplace about life.

There was a swale near by, and into this the little girl plunged. I
could see her red straw hat bobbing about among the tall rushes, and I
wondered if there were snakes.

"Do you think there are snakes?" I asked one of the tiny boys.

"If there are," he said with conviction, "they won't dare hurt her."

He convinced me. I feared no more. Presently Elsbeth came out of the
swale. In her hand was a brown "cattail," perfectly full and round. She
carried it as queens carry their sceptres