tions and interests; and back to the fig-tree
again, ending with that word,--"the real living is the urging toward the
fruit"? Her day's journey, and the hints of life--narrowed, suffering,
working--that had come to her, each with its problem? Marmaduke Wharne's
indignant protest against people who "did not know their daily bread,"
and his insistence upon the _two_ things for human creatures to do: the
_receiving_ and the giving; the taking from God, in the sunshine, to
grow; the ripening into generous uses for others,--was it all one, and
did it define the whole, and was it identical, in the broadest and
highest, with that sublime double command whereon "hang the law and the
prophets"?

Something like this passed into her mind and soul, brightening there,
like the morning. It seemed, in that glimpse, so clear and
gracious,--the truth that had been puzzling her.

Easy, beautiful summer work: only to be shone upon; to lift up one's
branching life, and be--reverently--glad; to grow sweet and helpful and
good-giving, in one's turn,--could she not begin to do that? Perhaps--by
ever so little; the fruit might be but a berry, yet it might be fair and
full, after its kind; and at least some little bird might be the better
for it. All around her, too, the life of the world that had so troubled
her,--who could tell, in the tangle of green, where the good and the
gift might ripen and fall? Every little fern-frond has its seed.

Jeannie came behind her again, and called her back to the contradictory
phase of self that, with us all, is almost ready, like Peter, to deny
the true. "What are you deep in now, Les?"

"Nothing. Only--we go _down_ from here, don't we, Jeannie?"

"Yes. And a very good thing for you, too. You've been in the clouds long
enough. I shall be glad to get you to the common level again."

"You've no need to be anxious. I can come down as fast as anybody.
_That_ isn't the hard thing to do. Let's go in, and get salt-fish and
cream for our breakfast."

The Haddens were new to mountain travel; the Thoresbys, literally, were
"old stagers;" they were up in the stable-yard before Mrs. Linceford's
party came out from the breakfast-room. Dakie Thayne was there, too; but
that was quite natural for a boy.

They got their outside seats by it, scrambling up before the horses were
put to, and sitting there while the hostlers smiled at each other over
their work. There was room for two more, and Dakie Thayne took a place