of　foam；　gathering　itself　up　rather　dizzily　among　the　mossy　stones　below。　　It　was　some　time　before　it　got　over　its　vexation；　it　went　boiling　and　muttering　along；　fighting　with　the　rotten　logs　that　lie　across　it；　and　making　far　more　fuss　than　was　necessary　over　every　root　that　interfered　with　it。　　We　were　getting　tired　of　its　ill…humour　and　talked　of　leaving　it；　when　it　suddenly　grew　sweet…tempered　again；　swooped　around　a　curveand　presto；　we　were　in　fairyland。
  It　was　a　little　dell　far　in　the　heart　of　the　woods。　　A　row　of　birches　fringed　the　brook；　and　each　birch　seemed　more　exquisitely　graceful　and　golden　than　her　sisters。　　The　woods　receded　from　it　on　every　hand；　leaving　it　lying　in　a　pool　of　amber　sunshine。　　The　yellow　trees　were　mirrored　in　the　placid　stream；　with　now　and　then　a　leaf　falling　on　the　water；　mayhap　to　drift　away　and　be　used；　as　Uncle　Blair　suggested；　by　some　adventurous　wood　sprite　who　had　it　in　mind　to　fare　forth　to　some　far…off；　legendary　region　where　all　the　brooks　ran　into　the　sea。
  〃Oh；　what　a　lovely　place！〃　I　exclaimed；　looking　around　me　with　delight。
  〃A　spell　of　eternity　is　woven　over　it；　surely；〃　murmured　Uncle　Blair。　　〃Winter　may　not　touch　it；　or　spring　ever　revisit　it。　　It　should　be　like　this　for　ever。〃
  〃Let　us　never　come　here　again；〃　said　the　Story　Girl　softly；　〃never；　no　matter　how　often　we　may　be　in　Carlisle。　　Then　we　will　never　see　it　changed　or　different。　　We　can　always　remember　it　just　as　we　see　it　now；　and　it　will　be　like　this　for　ever　for　us。〃
  〃I'm　going　to　sketch　it；〃　said　Uncle　Blair。
  While　he　sketched　it　the　Story　Girl　and　I　sat　on　the　banks　of　the　brook　and　she　told　me　the　story　of　the　Sighing　Reed。　　It　was　a　very　simple　little　story；　that　of　the　slender　brown　reed　which　grew　by　the　forest　pool　and　always　was　sad　and　sighing　because　it　could　not　utter　music　like　the　brook　and　the　birds　and　the　winds。　　All　the　bright；　beautiful　things　around　it　mocked　it　and　laughed　at　it　for　its　folly。　　Who　would　ever　look　for　music　in　it；　a　plain；　brown；　unbeautiful　thing？　　But　one　day　a　youth　came　through　the　wood；　he　was　as　beautiful　as　the　spring；　he　cut　the　brown　reed　and　fashioned　it　according　to　his　liking；　and　then　he　put　it　to　his　lips　and　breathed　on　it；　and；　oh；　the　music　that　floated　through　the　forest！　　It　was　so　entrancing　that　everythingbrooks　and　birds　and　windsgrew　silent　to　listen　to　it。　　Never　had　anything　so　lovely　been　heard；　it　was　the　music　that　had　for　so　long　been　shut　up　in　the　soul　of　the　sighing　reed　and　was　set　free　at　last　through　its　pain　and　suffering。
  I　had　heard　the　Story　Girl　tell　many　a　more　dramatic　tale；　but　that　one　stands　out　for　me　in　memory　above　them　all；　partly；　perhaps；　because　of　the　spot　in　which　she　told　it；　partly　because　it　was　the　last　one　I　was　to　hear　her　tell　for　many　yearsthe　last　one　she　was　ever　to　tell　me　on　the　golden　road。
  When　Uncle　Blair　had　finished　his　sketch　the　shafts　of　sunshine　were　turning　crimson　and　growing　more　and　more　remote；　the　early　autumn　twilight　was　falling　over　the　woods。　　We　left　our　dell；　saying　good…bye　to　it　for　ever；　as　the　Story　Girl　had　suggested；　and　we　went　slowly　homeward　through　the　fir　woods；　where　a　haunting；　indescribable　odour　stole　out　to　meet　us。
  〃There　is　magic　in　the　scent　of　dying　fir；〃　Uncle　Blair　was　saying　aloud　to　himself；　as　if　forgetting　he　was　not　quite　alone。　　〃It　gets　into　our　blood　like　some　rare；　subtly…compounded　wine；　and　thrills　us　with　unutterable　sweetnesses；　as　of　recollections　from　some　other　fairer　life；　lived　in　some　happier　star。　　Compared　to　it；　all　other　scents　seem　heavy　and　earth…born；　luring　to　the　valleys　instead　of　the　heights。　　But　the　tang　of　the　fir　summons　onward　and　upward　to　some　'far…off；　divine　event'some　spiritual　peak　of　attainment　whence　we　shall　see　with　unfaltering；　unclouded　vision　the　spires　of　some　aerial　City　Beautiful；　or　the　fulfilment　of　some　fair；　fadeless　land　of　promise。〃
  He　was　silent　for　a　moment；　then　added　in　a　lower　tone；
  〃Felicity；　you　loved　the　scent　of　dying　fir。　　If　you　were　here　tonight　with　meFelicityFelicity！〃
  Something　in　his　voice　made　me　suddenly　sad。　　I　was　comforted　when　I　felt　the　Story　Girl　slip　her　hand　into　mine。　　So　we　walked　out　of　the　woods　into　the　autumn　dusk。
  We　were　in　a　little　valley。　　Half…way　up　the　opposite　slope　a　brush　fire　was　burning　clearly　and　steadily　in　a　maple　grove。　　There　was　something　indescribably　alluring　in　that　fire；　glowing　so　redly　against　the　dark　background　of　forest　and　twilit　hill。
  〃Let　us　go　to　it；〃　cried　Uncle　Blair；　gaily；　casting　aside　his　sorrowful　mood　and　catching　our　hands。　　〃A　wood　fire　at　night　has　a　fascination　not　to　be　resisted　by　those　of　mortal　race。　　Hasten　we　must　not　lose　time。〃
  〃Oh；　it　will　burn　a　long　time　yet；〃　I　gasped；　for　Uncle　Blair　was　whisking　us　up　the　hill　at　a　merciless　rate。
  〃You　can't　be　sure。　　It　may　have　been　lighted　by　some　good；　honest　farmer…man；　bent　on　tidying　up　his　sugar　orchard；　but　it　may　also；　for　anything　we　know；　have　been　kindled　by　no　earthly　woodman　as　a　beacon　or　summons　to　the　tribes　of　fairyland；　and　may　vanish　away　if　we　tarry。〃
  It　did　not　vanish　and　presently　we　found　ourselves　in　the　grove。　　It　was　very　beautiful；　the　fire　burned　with　a　clear；　steady　glow　and　a　soft　crackle；　the　long　arcades　beneath　the　trees　were　illuminated　with　a　rosy　radiance；　beyond　which　lurked　companies　of　gray　and　purple　shadows。　　Everything　was　very　still　and　dreamy　and　remote。
  〃It　is　impossible　that　out　there；　just　over　the　hill；　lies　a　village　of　men；　where　tame　household　lamps　are　shining；〃　said　Uncle　Blair。
  〃I　feel　as　if　we　must　be　thousands　of　miles　away　from　everything　we've　ever　known；〃　murmured　the　Story　Girl。
  〃So　you　are！〃　said　Uncle　Blair　emphatically。　　〃You're　back　in　the　youth　of　the　raceback　in　the　beguilement　of　the　young　world。　　Everything　is　in　this　hourthe　beauty　of　classic　myths；　the　primal　charm　of　the　silent　and　the　open；　the　lure　of　mystery。　　Why；　it's　a　time　and　place　when　and　where　everything　might　come　truewhen　the　men　in　green　might　creep　out　to　join　hands　and　dance　around　the　fire；　or　dryads　steal　from　their　trees　to　warm　their　white　limbs；　grown　chilly　in　October　frosts；　by　the　blaze。　　I　wouldn't　be　much　surprised　if　we　should　see　something　of　the　kind。　　Isn't　that　the　flash　of　an　ivory　shoulder　through　yonder　gloom？　　And　didn't　you　see　a　queer　little　elfin　face　peering　at　us　around　that　twisted　gray　trunk？　　But　one　can't　be　sure。　　Mortal　eyesight　is　too　slow　and　clumsy　a　thing　to　match　against　the　flicker　of　a　pixy…litten　fire。〃
  Hand　in　hand　we　wandered　through　that　enchanted　place；　seeking　the　folk　of　elf…land；　〃and　heard　their　mystic　voices　calling；　from　fairy　knoll　and　haunted　hill。〃　Not　till　the　fire　died　down　into　ashes　did　we　leave　the　grove。　　Then　we　found　that　the　full　moon　was　gleaming　lustrously　from　a　cloudless　sky　across　the　valley。　　Between　us　and　her　stretched　up　a　tall　pine；　wondrously　straight　and　slender　and　branchless　to　its　very　top；　where　it　overflowed　in　a　crest　of　dark　boughs　against　the　silvery　splendour　behind　it。　　Beyond；　the　hill　farms　were　lying　in　a　suave；　white　radiance。
  〃Doesn't　it　seem　a　long；　long　time　to　you　since　we　left　home　this　afternoon？〃　asked　the　Story　Girl。　　〃And　yet　it　is　only　a　few　hours。〃
  Only　a　few　hourstrue；　yet　such　hours　were　worth　a　cycle　of　common　years　untouched　by　the　glory　and　the　dream。
  CHAPTER　XXIX
  WE　LOSE　A　FRIEND
  Our　beautiful　October　was　marred　by　one　day　of　black　tragedythe　day　Paddy　died。　　For　Paddy；　after　seven　years　of　as　happy　a　life　as　ever　a　cat　lived；　died　suddenlyof　poison；　as　was　supposed。　　Where　he　had　wandered　in　the　darkness　to　meet　his　doom　we　did　not　know；　but　in　the　frosty　dawnlight　he　dragged　himself　home　to　die。　　We　found　him　lying　on　the　doorstep　when　we　got　up；　and　it　did　not　need　Aunt　Janet's　curt　announcement；　or　Uncle　Blair's　reluctant　shake　of　the　head；　to　tell　us　that　there　was　no　chance　of　our　pet　recovering　this　time。　　We　felt　that　nothing　could　be　done。　　Lard　and　sulphur　on　his　paws　would　be　of　no　use；　nor　would　any　visit　to　Peg　Bowen　avail。　　We　stood　around　in　mournful　silence；　the　Story　Girl　sat　down　on　the　step　and　took　poor　Paddy　upon　her　lap。
  〃I　s'pose　there's　no　use　even　in　praying　now；〃　said　Cecily　desperately。
  〃It　wouldn't　do　any　harm　to　try；〃　sobbed　Felicity。
  〃You　needn't　waste　your　prayers；〃　said　Dan　mournfully；　〃Pat　is　beyond　human　aid。　　You　can　tell　that　by　his　eyes。　　Besides；　I　don't　believe　it　was　the　praying　cured　him　last　time。〃
  〃No；　it　was　Peg　Bowen；〃　declared　Peter；　〃but　she　couldn't　have　bewitched　him　this　time　for　she's　been　away　for　months；　nobody　knows　where。〃
  〃If　he　could　only　TELL　us　where　he　feels　the　worst！〃　said　Cecily　piteously。　　〃It's　so　dreadful　to　see　him　suffering　and　not　be　able　to　do　a　single　thing　to　help　him！〃
  〃I　don't　think　he's　suffering　much　now；〃　I　said　comfortingly。
  The　Story　Girl　said　nothing。　　She　passed　and　repassed　her　long　brown　hand　gently　over　her　pet's　glossy　fur。　　Pat　lifted　his　head　and　essayed　to　creep　a　little　nearer　to　his　beloved　mistress。　　The　Story　Girl　drew　his　limp　body　close　in　her　arms。　　There　was　a　plaintive　little　mewa　long　quiverand　Paddy's　friendly　soul　had　fared　forth　to　wherever　it　is　that　good　cats　go。