nter,
Miss, it was too cold to think then, except about hot soup. Stonehenge
is very becoming to this young man, especially at sunset. And, dearest,
you can hardly imagine the glory of those piled stones as you look back
at them, going slowly, slowly away, and seeing them purple-black against
a crimson streak of sunset like a smoking torch.

[Illustration: "_The policeman explained to me_"]

We got lost, trying to find the river road, going home, and had great
fun, straying into meadows, and onto ploughed ground, which poor Apollo
resented. The way was beautiful, past some lovely old houses and
exquisite cottages; and the Avon was idyllic in its pretty windings. But
the villages of Wiltshire I don't find as poetical as those in Surrey
and Sussex or Hampshire.

You would never guess what I'm going to do to-morrow morning? I'm not
sure you'd let me, if you knew. But a ward doesn't need a chaperon with
a guardian. He plays both parts. I'm to get up early--before the sun is
awake--and Sir Lionel is to motor me out to Stonehenge, so that I can
see it by sunrise as well as sunset. It is a beautiful idea, and the
handsome policeman has promised to be there and let us in.

Seeing a sunrise is like a glorified Private View, I think. I expect to
feel as Louis of Bavaria must have felt when he had a Wagner opera all
to himself.

Now I am going down to post this, so that it can leave for London by the
last train, and start for Switzerland in the morning--of my birthday. I
shall count the sunrise a birthday present from heaven if it's fine; and
if it isn't I shall know, what I suspect already, that I don't deserve
one.

Your loving Changeling,

Audrie.

XII

AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER

_Compton Arms, Stony Cross, New Forest_,
_July 25th_

Little Star-Mother: It's very late to-night, or early
to-morrow, but I did want to write you on my birthday; and besides, I am
in a hurry to tell you about the fairylike experience I have had. I am
in fairyland even here and now; but I have been to the heart of it. I
shall never forget.

Oh, but first--the sunrise, my birthday sunrise. It was wonderful, and
made me think how much time I have wasted, hardly ever accepting its
invitations. I believe I will turn over a new leaf. I shall get up very,
very early every day, and go to bed very, very late, so as to squeeze
all the juice out of the orange, and wring every minute out of my youth.
I feel so alive, I don't want to l