The Open Air 



too much of the sky, and of Titian, but Titian was 

 fond of feminine loveliness, and in the end somebody 

 said Guido was a dreamy name, as if it belonged to 

 one who was full of faith. Those golden curls shaking 

 about his head as he ran and filling the air with 

 radiance round his brow, looked like a Nimbus or 

 circlet of glory. So they called him St. Guido, and 

 a very, very wild saint he was. 



St. Guido stopped in the cornfield, and looked all 

 round. There were the fir-trees behind him a thick 

 wall of green hedges on the right and the left, and 

 the wheat sloped down towards an ash-copse in the 

 hollow. No one was in the field, only the fir-trees, 

 the green hedges, the yellow wheat, and the sun over- 

 head. Guido kept quite still, because he expected that 

 in a minute the magic would begin, and something 

 would speak to him. His cheeks which had been 

 flushed with running grew less hot, but I cannot tell 

 you the exact colour they were, for his skin was so 

 white and clear, it would not tan under the sun, yet 

 being always out of doors it had taken the faintest 

 tint of golden brown mixed with rosiness. His blue 

 eyes which had been wide open, as they always were 

 when full of mischief, became softer, and his long 

 eyelashes drooped over them. But as the magic did 

 not begin, Guido walked on slowly into the wheat, 

 which rose nearly to his head, though it was not yet 

 so tall as it would be before the reapers came. He 

 did not break any of the stalks, or bend them down 

 and step on them ; he passed between them, and they 

 yielded on either side. The wheat-ears were pale 

 gold, having only just left off their green, and they 

 surrounded him on all sides as if he were bathing. 



A butterfly painted a velvety red with white spots 

 came floating along the surface of the corn, and played 



6 



