The White Lily. — 59

 

saw handfuls of blossoms lying dead and limp where
they had thrown them in the morning.

Weary at last with the toil of pleasure, Ruby
begged that they should go back once more to the
poppy-field, and sleep as they had slept before.

But Pearl, as she had passed to and fro in front of
that great cliff where the mountain ash grew so fear- _
lessly, and the tops of the fir trees on the summit ‘
waved like the plumes of warriors in battle—Pearl
had seen something which she wanted to see again.

“You go back to the poppies, Ruby,” said-she. “I
am tired. I want to stay here and think.”

So Pearl sat down on the grassy bank that was
beneath the rock, and Ruby wandered away over the
fields.

The stream rippled peacefully by beyond her, the
scent of the fir trees on the cliff came to her, still

fragrant from the sun’s heat that had lain upon them

all day, and through the scent of the fir trees came
strange whiffs of another scent that Pearl did not
recognize, but which was really the breath of the