A JOURNEY TO NATURE 



encountered us. Where she was going, or why 

 she should be going at that particular hour, I 

 do not to this day know. When these things 

 are arranged for us by a benign morning, why 

 ask questions ? My impression at the time was 

 that the hour could no more help flowering into 

 Griselle than a turn of the earth can help bringing 

 the sunrise ; and after that, anything was possible. 

 If the birches tried to make triumphal arches for 

 her as she passed under, and the dotard oaks 

 pulled the few leaves they had left over their bald 

 heads as she leaned against their trunks, it was 

 all as probable and natural as anything can be in 

 a dream. I was not even surprised when, as she 

 was looking for sweet-flag along the edge of a 

 marsh, the vapours, in league with the sun, tried 

 to make halos and spin them round her jaunty 

 Scotch cap. I accepted the girl implicitly as part 

 of the wise en scene, but as one in dreams often 

 has a lurking suspicion that it is a dream, I found 

 myself at times saying, &quot; Go slow, old fellow, you 

 are under a spell.&quot; It would have astonished 

 her, I dare say, if she could by some necromancy 

 have seen the several of me whispering and con 

 sulting and comparing notes, like the conspirators 

 in a comic opera. I said, &quot; Easy, easy, my 

 friend &quot; (fancy one calling himself his friend ; this 

 is the meridian of moon madness), &quot; she is only a 

 comely rustic ; you are spending a fortune of fan 

 cies on her. If you cannot be reasonable, at least 

 be economical.&quot; But such bleak considerations 

 fell like the butternuts and were lost in the leaves. 



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