THE 

 OPEN AIR 



SAINT GUIDO 



ST. GUIDO ran out at the garden gate into a sandy 

 lane, and down the lane till he came to a grassy bank. 

 He caught hold of the bunches of grass and so pulled 

 himself up. There was a footpath on the top which 

 went straight in between fir-trees, and as he ran along 

 they stood on each side of him like green walls. They 

 were very near together, and even at the top the 

 space between them was so narrow that the sky 

 seemed to come down, and the clouds to be sailing 

 but just over them, as if they would catch and tear 

 in the fir-trees. The path was so little used that it 

 had grown green, and as he ran he knocked dead 

 branches out of his way. Just as he was getting 

 tired of running he reached the end of the path, and 

 came out into a wheat-field. The wheat did not grow 

 very closely, and the spaces were filled with azure 

 corn-flowers. St. Guido thought he was safe away 

 now, so he stopped to look. 



Those thoughts and feelings which are not sharply 

 defined but have a haze of distance and beauty about 

 them are always the dearest. His name was not 

 really Guido, but those who loved him had called him 

 so in order to try and express their hearts about him. 

 For they thought if a great painter could be a little 

 boy, then he would be something like this one. They 

 were not very learned in the history of painters : they 

 had heard of Raphael, but Raphael was too elevated, 



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