s trying to blossom in the pink
and golden sunset. The girl was beginning to look at the world through
new, strange eyes, and out on the hills that day the boy also had felt
the thrill of a new heaven and a new earth.

Their talk was finite and far short of the vision of warm, radiant
life-stuff flowing through the universe that had thrilled Kenyon in the
hills. Out there, looking eastward over the prairies checked in brown
earth, and green wheat, and old grass faded from russet to lavender,
with the gray woods worming their way through the valleys, he had found
voice and had crooned melodies that came out of the wind and sun, and
satisfied his soul. Over and over he had repeated in various cadences
the words:

"I will lift up mine eyes to the hills, whence cometh my help."

And he had seemed to be forming a great heart-filling anthem. It was all
on his tongue's tip, with the answering chorus coming from out of some
vast mystery, "Behold, thou art fair, my love--behold, thou art
fair--thou hast dove's eyes." There in the sunshine upon the prairie
grass it was as real and vital a part of his soul's aspiration as though
it had been reiterated in some glad symphony. But as he sat in the
sunset trying to put into his voice the language that stirred his heart,
he could only drum upon a box and look at the girl's blue eyes and her
rosebud of a face and utter the copper coins of language for the golden
yearning of his soul. She answered, thrilled by the radiance of his
eyes:

"Isn't the young spring beautiful--don't you just love it, Kenyon? I
do."

He rose and stood out in the sun on the lawn. The girl got up. She was
abashed; and strangely self-conscious without reason, she began to
pirouette down the walk and dance back to him, with her blue eyes
fastened like a mystic sky-thread to his somber gaze. A thousand mute
messages of youth twinkled across that thread. Their eyes smiled. The
two stood together, and the youth kicked with his toes in the soft turf.

"Lila," he asked as he looked at the greening grass of spring, "what do
you suppose they mean when they say, 'I will lift up mine eyes to the
hills'? The line has been wiggling around in my head all morning as I
walked over the prairie, that and another that I can't make much of,
about, 'Behold, thou art fair, my love--behold, thou art fair.' Say,
Lila," he burst out, "do you sometimes have things just pop into your
head all fuzzy with--oh, well, say feeling good a