In the Forest of Stone 7.

ible, for all its wonders, than the world of
elves and water-maidens. Delightful as it
was, it was scarce believable that fairies ever
carried a little girl up above the tree-tops and
swung her in the air from one to another; but
when St. Catherine of Siena was a little child,
and went to be a hermit in the woods, and got
terribly frightened, and lost her way, and sat
down to cry, the Angels, you know, did
really and truly waft her up on their wings
and carried her to the valley of Fontebranda,
which was very near home. And when she
was quite a little thing and used to say her
prayers going up to bed, the Angels would
come to her and just whip her right up the
stairs in an instant !

Occasionally these legends brought us to
the awful brink of religious controversies and
insoluble mysteries, but, like those gentle
savages who honour the water-spirits by
hanging garlands from tree to tree across the
river, W. V. could always fling a bridge of
flowers over our abysses. ‘Our sense,” she
would declare, ‘is nothing to God’s; and
though big people have more sense than
children, the sense of all the big people in
the world put together would be no sense to