"And what are the names of the Fortunate Isles, Lo! duty and love and a large content; And these are the Isles of the watery miles That God let down from the firmament.
Lo! duty and love and a true man's trust, Your forehead to God and your feet in the dust: Lo! duty and love and a sweet babe's smiles, And these, O friends, are the Fortunate Isles."AND LARKS FOR THE REBEL
Beneath a sky faintly pink with the warning of the coming sunrise Jeff walked an old logging trail that would take him back to camp from his morning dip. Ferns and blackberry bushes, heavy with dew, reached across the road and grappled with each other. At every step, as he pushed through the tangle, a shower of drops went flying.
His was the incomparable buoyant humor of a lover treading a newborn world. A smile was in his eyes, tender, luminous, cheerful. He thought of the woman whom he had not seen for many months, and he was buoyed up by the fine spiritual edge which does not know defeat. Win or lose, it was clear gain to have loved her.
With him he carried a vision of her, young, ardent, all fire and flame. One spoke of things beautiful and her face lit from within. Her words, motions, came from the depths, half revealed and half concealed dear hidden secrets. He recalled the grace of the delicate throat curve, little tricks of expression, the sweetness of her energy.
The forest broke, opening into a clearing. He stood to drink in its beauty, for the sun, peeping over a saddle in the hills, had painted the place a valley of gold and russet. And while he waited there came out of the woods beyond, into that splendid setting, the vision that was in his mind.
He was not surprised that his eyes were playing him tricks. This was after all the proper frame for the picture of his golden sweetheart. Lance- straight and slender, his wood nymph waded knee deep through the ferns. Straight toward him she came, and his temples began to throb. A sylph of the woods should be diaphanous. The one he saw was a creature of colorand warmth and definiteness. Life, sweet and mocking, flowed through her radiantly. His heart sang within him, for the woman he loved out of a world of beautiful women was coming to him, light-footed as Daphne, the rhythm of the morning in her step.
She spoke, commonplace words enough. "Last night I heard you were here.""And I didn't know you were within a thousand miles.""We came back to Verden Thursday and are up over Sunday," she explained.
He was lost in the witchery of the spell she cast over him. Not the drooping maidenhair ferns through which she trailed were more delicate or graceful than she. But some instinct in him played surface commonplaces against the insurgent emotion of his heart.
"You like Washington?" "I like home better.""But you were popular at the capital. I read a great deal in the papers about your triumphs."The dye in her cheeks ran a little stronger. There had been much gossip about a certain Italian nobleman who had wooed her openly and madly. "They told a lot of nonsense.""And some that wasn't nonsense."
"Not much." She changed the subject lightly. "You read all about the wedding, of course."He quoted. "Miss Alice Frome as maid of honor preceded the bride, appearing in a handsome gown of very delicate old rose satin with an overdress of--""Very good. You may go to the head of the class, sir. Valencia was beautiful and your cousin never looked more handsome.""Which is saying a good deal."
"And we're all hoping they will live happy ever after.""You know he is being talked of for United States Senator already." "You will oppose him?" she asked quickly.
"I shall have to."
"Still an irreconcilable." Her smile could be vivid, and just now it was.
"Still a demagogue and a trouble maker," he admitted. "You've won the recall and the direct primary since I left." "Yes. We've been busy.""And our friends--how are they?"
"You should see Jefferson Davis Farnum Miller. He's two months old and as fat as a dumpling.""I've seen him. He's a credit to his godfather." "Isn't he? That's one happy family.""I wonder who's to blame for that," she said, the star flash in her eyes. "Nellie told you?""She told me."
"They exaggerate. Nobody could have done less than I.""Or more." She did not dwell upon the subject. "Tell me about Mr. Marchant."He went over for her the story of the little poet's gentle death. She listened till he made an end.
"Then it was not hard for him?"
"No. He had one of his good, eager days, then guietly fell asleep." "And passed to where, beyond these voices, there is rest and peace,"she quoted, ever so softly. "Yes."
"Perhaps he knows now all about his Perfect State." Her wistful smile was very tender.
"Perhaps."
They walked together slowly across the valley. "It is nearly six months since I have seen you.""Five months and twenty-seven days." The words had slipped out almost without her volition. She hurried on, ashamed, the color flying in her cheeks, "I remember because it was the day we ran down your cousin and that old gentleman. It has always been a great comfort to me to know that he was not seriously injured.""No. It was only the shock of his fall."
"What was his name? I don't think I heard it."There was just an instant's silence before he pronounced, "Farnum--Mr.
Robert Farnum."
"A relative of yours?" "Yes."
