to carry on so long a journey.

THE SOJOURNERS

"My father, shall we soon be there?"

The man stopped, and shading his eyes with his hand, looked long before
him into the silver haze. They were on the southern bank of a wide
valley, flanked by deep hills looking wise as grey-headed youth, a
legion of close comrades, showing no gap in their ranks. They seemed
to breathe; to sit, looking down into the valley, with heads dropped on
their breasts, and deep overshadowed eyes, that never changed, in mist
or snow, or sun, or any kind of weather: dark brooding lights that knew
the secrets of the world, watchful yet kind. Races, ardent with longing,
had come and gone through the valley, had passed the shining porches
in the North on the way to the quiet country; and they had never come
again, though shadows flitted back and forth when the mists came down:
visiting spirits, hungering on the old trail for some that had dropped
by the way. As the ages passed, fewer and fewer travelled through the
valley-no longer a people or a race, but twos and threes, and sometimes
a small company, like soldiers of a battered guard, and oftener still
solitary pilgrims, broken with much travel and bowed with loneliness.
But they always cried out with joy when they beheld far off in the
North, at the end of the long trail, this range of grey and violet hills
break into golden gaps with scarlet walls, and rivers of water ride
through them pleasantly. Then they hurried on to the opal haze that hung
at the end of the valley--and who heard ever of any that wished to leave
the Scarlet Hills and the quiet country beyond!

The boy repeated his question: "My father, shall we soon be there?"

The man withdrew his hand from over his eyes, and a strange smile came
to his lips.

"My son," he answered, "canst thou not see? Yonder, through the gentle
mist, are the Scarlet Hills. Our journey is near done."

The boy lifted his head and looked. "I can see nothing but the mist, my
father--not the Scarlet Hills. I am tired, I would sleep."

"Thou shalt sleep soon. The wise men told us of the Delightful Chateau
at the gateway of the hills. Courage, my son! If I gave thee the golden
balls to toss, would it cheer thee?"

"My father, I care not for the golden balls; but if I had horse and
sword and a thousand men, I would take a city."

The man laid his hand upon the boy's shoulder.

"If I, my son," he said, "had a horse and sword and a thousand men, I